


Year Five

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Sam at Hogwarts [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam really, really wishes he could have just ONE year where nothing happens but schoolwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Number 12, Grimmauld Place

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley met them on the platform, as promised, and led them to a sedan in the parking lot. They talked for the entirety of the three-hour drive, getting details of the year. Fred, George, and Ginny were more than happy to provide updates. Ron and Sam sat in the very back of the car, not speaking. Sam ran his fingers over the scars on his neck more than once; Pomfrey had sworn they would fade with time, but for now they were still pink and puffy.

They did, eventually, stop. At the end of a long driveway was a house that _had_ to be held up by magic, extensions springing out every which way into open air. There was a rickety old shack out to the side, and a chaotic garden extending from the house to a low wall. "Here we are, then," Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully.

They emptied out of the car, grabbed their bags from the trunk, and started toward the house. Mrs. Weasley walked beside him. "It's not a very large house, so you'll have to share with Ron, I'm afraid. He's on the top floor, right below the attic - he'll show you up. Oh, and we have a ghoul, dear, don’t worry about any noise coming from above you."

Sam blinked. "Sorry, did you just say you _have a ghoul?_ "

"Yes, dear, he lives in the attic. Once you've settled in, come back down and we'll have lunch." She smiled at him and patted his arm.

Sam followed Ron up the stairs, to a room that was bright orange. "You can sleep there," he said, pointing to the cot.

"Thanks," Sam said, putting his duffel down.

Ron eyed him warily. "Don't have anywhere for you to put your clothes, though."

"That's all right," Sam said cheerfully, "I'm used to living out of a bag. I - uh - I'll let you unpack."

He descended to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was puttering around. "Can I help with anything?" he asked.

She turned. "Oh - no, thank you, dear. You could use some feeding up, couldn't you?"

Sam glanced down. "You think so?" he asked, surprised.

"She thinks everyone can do with fattening up," one of the twins said from behind him.

"Oh - George - set the table, will you?"

"Yes, Mum," he said, passing Sam with a grin. "She doesn't let guests help," he called as he took down the plates.

Sam flushed, feeling like he really should be doing something, but the table was set and the food on it before he could figure out what to say.

After lunch, Mrs. Weasley sent them out to degnome the garden, whatever that meant. Sam followed the Weasleys out of a lack of anything better to do.

"Ever degnome a garden?" Fred asked him. He shook his head. "It's really easy. Pick one up, spin it, and chuck it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Look-" And he picked up a gnome, swung it around by its feet, and lobbed it over the hedge. "They think it's fun."

Sam grabbed one running by him and emulated Fred. "Nice," George said appreciatively.

They settled down into life at the Weasleys' home, which they called 'the Burrow'. Mr. Weasley grilled Sam on Muggle ways of life; Mrs. Weasley continued to try to prevent him from helping with the chores; Ginny sat next to him at every meal; Ron clearly didn't trust him, and threw a pillow at him the fourth time he had to go to the bathroom for a vision-induced nosebleed in the middle of the night; Fred and George teased him but didn't play any physical pranks on him or get mean. Percy was rarely there.

On Friday, Mrs. Weasley told them they'd be moving on Sunday. "Dumbledore will be coming by to show us."

Just then the door opened. "Hello," Percy nearly sang.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, while the rest of them chorused variations of 'hi'. "Have a good day at work?"

"Wonderful," Percy said excitedly. "I got promoted!"

"That's fantastic!" Mr. Weasley said enthusiastically. "Where to?"

"I'm the new Junior Undersecretary to the Minister." Percy beamed at them all.

Mr. Weasley put his knife and fork down. "Really."

"What? You don't think I deserve it?" Percy asked.

"It's not that, son," Mr. Weasley said. "It's just - that's very good for someone just out of Hogwarts, and Fudge is on the warpath for anyone involved with Dumbledore."

"So?"

"So, doesn't the timing seem a little suspicious?"

Ginny plucked Sam's sleeve and jerked her head. Sam nodded and followed her upstairs; they all crammed into someone's bedroom. 

George said quietly, "Dad's got a point, dunnee? Percy didn't even realize his boss was under the Imperius Curse for _months,_ there was an inquiry and everything."

"NO AMBITION, YOU'VE BEEN HOLDING ME BACK-"

"AFTER THE INQUIRY, YOU'RE NOT STUPID, SO DON'T-"

"-POOR BECAUSE OF YOUR LOUSY-"

"AFTER CROUCH, YOU CAN'T BELIEVE-"

"-TRAITORS, ALL OF YOU-

"-LOYALTY TO DUMBLEDORE-"

"MY LOYALTY IS WITH THE MINISTRY!"

"BUT AFTER YOU-KNOW-WHO-"

"NO PROOF HE'S BACK-"

"PLENTY OF PROOF-"

"POTTER'S WORD, AND HE'S A NUTTER! I'M DONE!"

The sound of a slamming door reached them, and then hurried footsteps.

The next day was very strained on all of them. Percy had left the house, swearing it was for good. The Weasleys remained in the living room all night, but Sam, feeling himself an intruder, kept to himself in Ron's room.

Dumbledore appeared in the kitchen on Sunday morning. "Morning, Molly, Arthur."

"Morning, Albus," Mr. Weasley said.

"Breakfast?" Mrs. Weasley offered.

"Thank you, Molly, but I am quite all right," Dumbledore reassured her. "I merely came to tell you where to go. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

"Thanks very much," Mr. Weasley said briskly. "All right, everyone, through the Floo, off you go."

Sam went last but for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He spun and spun and was spat out into a kitchen that looked comfortably used. He skidded a few inches on his front, stood, and dusted himself off.

"Hello," a man said.

"Hi," Sam said. He didn't recognize him. "So-"

The fire spat out Mr. Weasley. "Ah, Sirius! Good to see you again," he said, shaking the man's hand.

That was Sirius Black? His hair was short and clean, and his beard was trimmed, and he'd put on some weight. He looked a completely different man.

"You, too, Arthur," Black was saying.

"Moved back in, then?"

"Unfortunately," Black said, loathing dripping from his voice. "But we've cleaned it up a lot...dismissed the house-elf years back, so at least he's not creeping around making things difficult."

"Good, good," Mr. Weasley said distractedly as Mrs. Weasley stepped out of the fireplace. "So what's been happening?"

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley hissed. " _Children!_ "

"Oh, right, yes, of course, dear…."

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Black turned to Sam and said, "So! I have you and Ron to thank for my freedom."

"Um," Sam said awkwardly. "It's really not-"

_"All right, Fred?" one of the Weasley twins screamed, exhilarated with bloodlust. "Fred?"_

_"Just fine, G-"_

_The wall exploded, taking Fred with it._

"Sam? Sam!"

He coughed and jackknifed to sitting. His head swam with pain and the sudden change in position; a rough hand gripped his upper arm.

He looked at the twins. "Do not ever - go to a - place with exploding - walls," he gasped out.

"Ooh, exploding walls?"

"That could be fun."

"It's not," Sam croaked. "Trust me. Don't."

"Okay, okay," George said. "We won't."

"Seer, eh?" Black said, looking at him keenly. "That could be useful."

"Yeah," Sam said miserably. "I think that's what Dumbledore's hoping."

Ginny passed him a napkin, and he wiped his nose. "You okay?" she asked.

"Fine, Gin," he said, smiling absently at her.

"Anyway. Uh. What's happening?" he asked brightly.

"Cleaning, mostly," Black said. "It's been decades since this place had people living in it. I've cleaned out the kitchen and some of the bedrooms, but that's about it."

"That's where you all come in," Mrs. Weasley said. "Making this place habitable is too much for any one person. But between all of us, we should be able to get it in shape."

"Mum," Fred said indignantly.

"Hang on," Black interrupted. "Where's - er - Percy?"

"Let's go look around," George said quickly, grabbing Ginny. Fred gripped Sam's arm and towed him out.  
***  
The next few weeks were spent cleaning. Dusting, emptying out cabinets, destroying anything Dark. Mrs. Weasley went to London to talk to Percy and came back in tears. Sam shared a room with Ron, Ginny with Hermione when she showed up. Lupin seemed to live in Grimmauld Place, though he was often gone for long stretches of time.

The days were long, boring, and tedious. Sam's patience was tried repeatedly with Fred and George's noisemaking, Ginny and Hermione giggling over _Witch Weekly_ , and Ron's blatant distrust. He was going stir-crazy, cooped up in a house, not allowed to leave, stuck with people he barely knew. The potion Snape sent weekly by owl kept his mind vaguely cloudy, adding to his discontent - he didn't like feeling as though he was wrapped in clouds. Still, it was a condition of Dumbledore not expelling him, so he took it. There was a time limit, anyway - past six months, continuing to take the potion would end "poorly", according to both Snape and Pomfrey. He only had to hold on until December.

The only break from the monotony was when there were meetings downstairs and Fred and George brought out their Extendable Ears, which transmitted sound up a long line. All they heard was that Voldemort was being quiet, keeping the Ministry from having to accept the truth; the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was almost entirely on Dumbledore's side; that Harry had cast a freaking Patronus Charm in the middle of Surrey and would be joining them. Around that time, Mrs. Weasley cottoned on to what they were doing and began casting Imperturbable Charms on the kitchen door.

When Harry came, there was some excitement: he began screaming the moment he was inside. Sam, who had taken refuge in the girls' room following two visions that gave him migraines and one that sent him into a seizure, rolled over and put a pillow over his ears. Ginny patted his back and left him alone.

Harry thankfully stopped shouting, and then Mrs. Weasley knocked on his door to call him to dinner. He sat up, waited for his head to stop spinning, and dutifully went downstairs. He was halfway down the steps, just far enough to see the others on the landing, when there was a loud crash and that stupid goddamn racist fucking portrait started screaming. Pain spiked, and he gripped the railing so he wouldn't hurt himself when he fell to sit heavily on a step and dry-retch.

When the screaming finally stopped, Sam heard Ginny say, "You guys go on," and then footsteps. "Sam?"

"Yeah," he said.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just - headache. Bad one."

"Mum has some painkilling potions," Ginny offered.

"Can't," Sam said bitterly. "Not unless I talk to Snape first."

"Oh. Right." Ginny stood there awkwardly for a moment, then held out a hand. He took it, letting her help him stand. She was much stronger than she looked; Sam was easily six inches taller than she was, and had a lot more muscle, but if pulling him up strained her she didn't show it. "Your nose is bleeding again."

"Thanks," he muttered, following her downstairs and ducking into the bathroom to get the last of the blood off. That done, he moved back to the kitchen slowly. There _had_ to be a way to stop this from happening.

The woodsmoke in the kitchen didn't help. Sam muttered the charm he'd learned for just this purpose, and the air got marginally better. That done, he glanced around. The heavy, cast-iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling ensured half of them would need to duck to walk through. Everyone but Sirius Black (who had ordered them all to call him Sirius their first day at the house), Harry Potter, and Mundungus Fletcher were puttering around, getting plates and cups and food. Mr. Weasley was supervising the knives, while Mrs. Weasley was working on something over the cauldron. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "Have a seat, dear."

Sam slid into the chair next to Sirius, who glanced at him and turned back to Harry. "A bit of excitement would break the monotony nicely."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I'm stuck inside. Not allowed to go on missions or anything. Dumbledore thinks there's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix."

"At least you've known what's been going on," Harry said optimistically.

"Oh, yeah, listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time...asking me how the cleaning's going-"

"Cleaning?" Harry interrupted.

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," Sirius said gloomily. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf - he's been dismissed-"

"Sirius?" Mundungus interrupted. "This solid silver mate?"

"Yes." Sirius sneered at the goblet. "Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come off, though." He started rubbing at the crest on the cup with his sleeve.

"Fred - George - NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley screamed.

All of them looked up and dove away from the table. The sudden movement made Sam's head swim and spin and go black for a moment, and when he'd blinked himself back to being able to see there was a long burn mark on the table, at the end of which sat the cauldron Mrs. Weasley had been fussing over; an old-fashioned iron pitcher of butterbeer on its side; and a bread knife sticking point-down in front of where Sirius had been sitting.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" Mrs. Weasley screeched, and Sam clapped his hands over his ears, tearing up from the pain in his head that was only getting worse. "THERE WAS NO NEED - I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS - JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY LITTLE THING!"

Someone said something in reply, and Sam cautiously took his hands from his ears and took his seat again, putting his head in his hands, breathing evenly, and trying to tune out Mrs. Weasley raging at the twins. It wasn't until Lupin said, "It looks wonderful, Molly," that Sam looked up and served himself stew and bread.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley looked at Sirius. "I've been meaning to tell you, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like."

"The curtains in there are full of doxies, too. I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it."

Tonks was changing her nose around again, entertaining Ginny and Hermione. Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Lupin were discussing goblins' potential help in the war everyone but the upper echelons of the Ministry knew was happening. Mundungus was telling a story about stealing toads and selling them back to their owner, which Fred, George, and Ron were laughing themselves sick about until Mrs. Weasley got angry at them all. Sam's headache slowly abated over four glasses of water and a half bowl of stew.

Ginny eventually slipped down to roll butterbeer corks for Crookshanks. After dessert, Sirius looked at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you," he remarked. "I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

Everyone was suddenly alert. Lupin lowered his goblet of wine slowly.

"I did!" Harry protested. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so-"

"And they're quite right," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, fists clenching her chair. "You're too young."

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order to ask questions? Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen-"

"Hang on!" George interrupted.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" Fred snapped.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month, and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!"

" _You're too young, you're not in the Order._ Harry's not even of age!"

Sirius said, "It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing. That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand-"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" Mrs. Weasley snarled. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?"

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he _needs to know._ "

"I don't intend to tell him more than he _needs to know,_ Molly, but as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back, more has more right than most to-"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix! He's only fifteen and-"

"-and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order, and more than some-"

"No one's denying what he's done! But he's still-"

"He's not a child!"

"He's not an adult, either! He's not _James,_ Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," Sirius said, voice dropping any pretense of warmth.

"I'm not sure you are! Sometimes-"

"Excuse me!" Sam said loudly.

Every eye in the room turned to him.

"It seems to me," he said, choosing his words carefully, "that a general overview won't jeopardize anything, and it certainly won't traumatize him. Not telling him things means he'll just run around and sneak around and learn half-truths for himself. Much the way the _rest_ of us have over the past three weeks. And I will tell you now - I've been on hunts that were need-to-know, and people _died_ because those of us on the periphery didn't know enough." Sam swallowed. "I lost one of my best friends that way, because we got dragged along and told to wait in the car and we didn't know what was being hunted, so when it came at us we didn't know how to fight it. Harry's a fucking idiot, he's gonna chase after him."

Harry made an indignant noise. "I am not-"

"Yes, you are," Sam said bluntly. "Name _one year_ you didn't almost die."

Harry's mouth opened and closed, but there was nothing he could say.

"You do that a lot, too," Ginny said.

"Yeah, but my near-death experiences have come way down since I-" Sam stopped abruptly. "Since I came to Hogwarts," he said instead. He'd almost said 'Since I left my family', but he _had_ to stop thinking of them as family. It had been five years. "It's a once-a-year thing now, not once-a-week."

"Tell us about a hunt," Mrs. Weasley said, feigning interest.

"Nice misdirection," Sam said admiringly.

"Personally," Lupin said, speaking for the first time, "I think it better that Harry gets the facts - not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture - from us, rather than a garbled version from others. Harry's old enough to decide for himself. He ought to be allowed a say in this."

"I want to know what's been going on," he said instantly.

"Very well." Mrs. Weasley's voice cracked. "Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Sam, I want you out of this kitchen, now."

"We're of age!" Fred and George both yelled.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" Ron screamed.

"Mum, I _want_ to!" Ginny cried.

" _No!_ I absolutely forbid-"

"Molly," Mr. Weasley intervened, "you can't stop Fred and George. They _are_ of age."

"They're still at school-"

"But they're legally adults now." He sounded very, very tired. 

"I - oh, all right, then, but Ron-"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" Ron protested. "Won't - won't you?"

"Course I will," Harry said after a second's hesitation.

"Fine!" Mrs. Weasley yelled. "Fine! Ginny, Sam, _bed!_ "

Sam stayed sitting, though Ginny stood, flushing scarlet. "Mum, why can't I-"

"GO!" Mrs. Weasley screamed, spit flying from her mouth, and Ginny took a step back. "SAM!"

"No," he said simply.

A smile flickered over Sirius's face.

"No?" Mrs. Weasley repeated. "What do you mean-"

"I mean I'm not leaving," he said, meeting her eyes squarely. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, but there is literally nothing you can say to make me leave."

"You don't have a right, either," Lupin said mildly. "He's not your son."

"He's not yours, either! He's not _anybody's!_ "

Sam flinched back, feeling her words like the slaps his father used to dole out when Sam fucked up and did magic without meaning to.

"Molly," Sirius snapped. "Too far."

"No," Sam said quietly, "she's right. But that just means nobody else can _ever_ make decisions for me again."

Red-faced, Mrs. Weasley grabbed Ginny's arm and towed her out. Ginny went loudly, fighting all the way and waking up the portrait. Lupin went to deal with it, and in the interim, Sirius turned to Sam and said just loud enough to be heard over the painting's wailing, "She didn't mean anything by it."

"I know," Sam said quietly. "She's just angry."

Lupin returned and settled back in his seat, and Sirius turned to Harry. "Okay, Harry. What do you want to know?"

"Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything-"

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet, not as far as we know - and we know quite a lot." Sirius smirked smugly.

"More than he thinks we do, anyway," Lupin added.

"How come he's stopped killing people?"

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment. It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather," Lupin said, smiling, "you messed it up for him."

"How?"

"You weren't supposed to survive! Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness, and so did Dumbledore, who recalled the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned."

"He's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of," Lupin added.

"So what's the Order been doing?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Normally he had a bit more patience, but Harry was asking stupid questions.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans."

"How d'you know what his plans are?"

Lupin answered that one. "Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea, and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," Sirius said. "In the old days, he had huge numbers at his command, witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures."

Fifteen years as a hunter and five as a wizard, and Sam still didn't know what made a creature 'Dark'.

"You heard him planning to recruit the giants," Sirius continued. "Well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best."

"How?"

"Well, the main thing," Bill said, "is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard. It's really quite good you, Cedric, Dumbledore, and the surviving Auror all saw it happen...it would have been difficult if it had just been you."

"But the Ministry's attitude is pretty hard line," Tonks said, face back to normal, hair its daily bubblegum pink once more. "You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back? Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why? Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore-"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr. Weasley, who apparently either didn't share his wife's opinion on his children learning what was happening or had remained to prevent them from being told too much. " _Dumbledore."_

"Fudge is frightened of him, you see," Tonks explained.

"Fudge thinks Dumbledore is plotting to overthrow him," Mr. Weasley elaborated. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic. He doesn't want the job, of course. He never has, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for his job."

"Applied?" Sam interrupted. "It's not done by vote?"

It was the first question not posed by Harry, and a series of quick glances told him it hadn't escaped the others' notice that despite earlier protests, the remaining Weasleys and Hermione had been content to take a backseat.

"You submit your name, and then there's a week of campaigning," Lupin told him. "Then everyone turns out to the local polls, and - well - it's a bit complicated, but the short version is that voting happens by spell, and then the Wizengamot - that's the court - votes based on the popular support. In theory, anyway, but they've been known to go against their district. And some people can't vote at all." There was something vicious in his tone there, and Sam blinked, suddenly realizing that the dry werewolf codes they'd learned in History of Magic actually _applied_ to people still. He'd known they did, of course, but it was different, to be faced by someone affected by them.

The main conversation had continued. "...accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years. Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to decide Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him," Sirius said, a hard edge of bitterness in his voice.

"You see the problem," Lupin said more evenly, returning to the general discussion. "While the Ministry insist there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning hard on the _Daily Prophet_ not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumor-mongering, so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you? You're letting people know he's back?" Harry asked desperately.

"I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," Lupin said. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

Mrs. Weasley slipped into the kitchen and stood next to the door, arms crossed and red in the face.

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," said Sirius, and it's very important for us to have spies in the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"Most everyone in the department believes he's back," Tonks said. "We can't talk about it at work, but we're all on Dumbledore's side. When a full squad gets taken out and it's brushed under the rug, people are much more willing to believe just about anything. Most of the Aurors are relieved it was a normal patrol got sent out."

"Normal patrol?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. MLE - sorry, Magical Law Enforcement - is set up so there are witches and wizards investigating run-of-the-mill curses, hexes, underage magic, and the like," Tonks explained. "Right now there's about a hundred of them, and twenty Aurors for the more dangerous missions. People are usually general squad for about five years before they start getting talked about, and usually it's an Auror in about ten. I got fast-tracked because I'm a Metamorphmagus, and that's dead useful for Auror-level missions but almost useless in general."

So basically officers and detectives. Sam filed that away for future use.

"...taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too," Lupin was telling Harry.

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards." Bill grinned.

"It's no laughing matter," Mr. Weasley said reprovingly. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way, well - You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"If Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry," Sirius said. "He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He's well-practiced at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in, he's got other plans. Plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on them at the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?"

Sirius and Lupin exchanged a glance over Sam's head, and then Sirius answered, "Stuff he can only get by stealth….Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon? Something worse than the _Avada Kedavra_ -"

"That's enough," Mrs. Weasley said from her place beside the door. "I want you in bed, now. All of you."

"You can't boss us-" Fred started.

"Watch me," she snarled, shaking. "You've given them plenty of information, Sirius. Any more and you might as well induct him into the Order straightaway."

"Why not?" Harry asked eagerly. "I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight-"

"No you don't," Sam said, at the same time Lupin said, "No."

Lupin continued, "The Order is comprised only of overage wizards - _who have left school_ ," he added when Fred and George opened their mouths. "There are dangers involved of which only Sam has any idea….I think Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough."

Sirius shrugged; Mrs. Weasley beckoned. They all followed out obediently, all but Sam, who stayed behind. "Sirius," he said quietly, "I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" he asked.

Sam took a breath. "You're an Animagus. Can you teach me?"

Whatever Sirius had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that. "Why me?"

"Because you've already done it, and unlike McGonagall, you won't make me register with the Ministry," Sam explained. "I've read as much as I could, but none of the books in the library are particularly useful."

"No, they're not," Sirius said, examining him. 

"Sam!" Mrs. Weasley screeched.

"Give us a minute, Molly," Lupin called pleasantly.

"Are you serious about this?" Sirius asked him.

"Yes."

"We'll start after dinner tomorrow, then. Tell nobody, or they'll all want to join too."

"Thank you," he said, standing. "I should go before Mrs. Weasley gets any angrier."

He couldn't keep his own anger from his voice, and Lupin patted his forearm consolingly. "She'll calm down," he said gently. "Don't take it personally."

"Especially since she's right," Sam said bitterly.

"Ah, don't think like that," Tonks said comfortably. "Even _Snape's_ looking out for you, and he's a total bastard."

Sam just smiled and escaped the kitchen for the bedroom he'd been sharing with Ron for the past three weeks.

Fred and George were also in there. Harry had claimed the third bed already, his trunk sitting by the foot.

"But there can't be anything worse than the _Avada Kedavra_ curse, can there?" Ron was asking. "What's worse than death?"

Sam got a sudden flash of dizziness, a phantom voice saying, _Convincing the abomination not to throw his life away!_ and someone answering, _This isn't convincing, Zachariah. This is punishment,_ and a flash of pain in his shoulder when he thudded against the doorway.

"Sam?" Fred asked, suddenly right in front of him.

"Fine," he said shortly, pushing himself back to standing. "Sorry, just...bit of a head rush, that's all."

"Right," Fred said, looking suspicious, and then he stiffened. "Shh! Listen!"

There was the creaking of the stairs, and George whispered, "Mum." He and Fred disappeared with loud cracks.

The noise stopped just outside the door; Mrs. Weasley was plainly checking that they weren't talking. A moment later she continued upstairs to check on Fred and George.

"She doesn't trust us at all, you know," Ron complained.


	2. Animagi

The next day was, again, dedicated to cleaning. Mrs. Weasley carefully avoided speaking to or being alone with Sam, which was perfectly fine with him. Even as they cleared out the doxy infestation in the drawing room she avoided him - easy enough, since they were all using dishtowels as masks. Fred and George slipped away several doxies when their mother wasn't looking, undoubtedly for use in one prank or another.

After dinner, Sam joined Sirius in what had once been his mother's bedroom. "Remus tells me you've mastered your Patronus."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"What form does it take?"

"Wolverine."

"Interesting. Have a seat."

There was nowhere to sit except on the bed beside Sirius, so that was where Sam settled, angled to see him.

"Patroni and Animagus forms are both reflections of your soul," Sirius said when he was seated. "That's why most Animagi are taught to conjure their Patronus first - it shows them just what they're going to become. A large part of what you need to do is already done, but there's a lot left to do.

"First, you need to learn to _feel_ spells. This lets you get more in touch with your body, so you can direct magic to just one part. Example."

Sirius stretched out a hand, and between one breath and the next, it was a dog's paw. "Once you're practiced, you can do it any speed." The fur shrank back, the claws shortened into nails, and the fingers reasserted themselves. It took a full twenty seconds to finish. "Now, this is one of the hardest parts. Some people never progress past this stage. Simple spells, like _Lumos_ , feel the same to almost everyone, but more complex ones are more...individualized. _Lumos_ usually feels like a trickle of warmth down from the sternum into the wand, but - eh, let's say turning a mouse into a goblet, that may feel like a dam bursting."

Sam blinked. "So, the Patronus, could that be kind of a purple balloon?"

"You already feel spells?" Sirius asked, looking like Christmas had come early.

"Yeah, I - always, even before I found out - it was how I learned to keep from doing it accidentally, or keep John from noticing when I did."

Sirius nodded slowly. "Well, then. All that's left is to figure out how the Animagus spell feels to you."

"How do I do that?" he asked interestedly.

"Concentrate. Pull your wand out, focus on a wolverine, and say, _Melenjhan werrmen._ "

Sam frowned. "That's not Latin?"

"No, well, it wouldn't be. Animagi began in India and spread from there - it was a Hindi spell to begin with."

Sam nodded and took out his wand.

"Point it at your hand. The spell will change your hand into whatever animal you are, all you need to do is focus on knowing what it feels like."

Sam took a deep breath, aimed his wand, and said, " _Melenjhan werrmen._ "

His hand disappeared.

Sirius did a double-take. " _That_ shouldn't have happened. _Muyamanev abenyu._ "

Sam's hand reappeared, and Sirius said, "Put your wand down. Let me hear the words again."

Half an hour later, Sam had yet to do anything but make his hand invisible. He could feel it at the end of his arm, and he knew it had changed shape, but he didn't know what it had become. Sirius didn’t know, either.

"We'll get Remus up here tomorrow," he promised Sam. "He was always the smartest of us."  
***  
They were kept busy over the next weeks, cleaning out rooms, killing everything inhuman that lived there, and throwing away pretty much everything they came across. People visited at all hours of the day and night, waking up the portrait of Mrs. Black every time, and sometimes they remained to help clean - Tonks once dispatched a murderous ghoul in a bathroom.

Lupin, who was staying at the house but was gone for long periods of time, fixed a violent grandfather clock after he admitted to Sam and Sirius he didn't know why the spell was acting strangely. He and Sirius had both cast the same spell on Sam, with the same result, and double-checked it against Sirius's Animagus form. The spell worked perfectly on the ex-convict, which led them to the baffling conclusion that Sam's Animagus form was invisible. "It's not a thestral," Lupin said, frown creasing his face, "because all three of us have seen death." Even so, they continued to meet nightly, Sam slowly learning the feel of the spell and focusing on changing his hand without speaking the words.

Cleaning continued unabated. Harry's hearing, on the twelfth of August, ended the way everyone had thought it would: the Wizengamot cleared him of all charges. Sam managed a smile for him and slipped away as soon as he could, feeling an intruder: while they got along well enough, Sam was not deluded enough to think them friends. He wished he could send an owl to his fellow Slytherins, or to Lianne and Christina, but there was a blanket ban on mail. After two months inside, Sam was climbing the walls.

"You're antsy," Lupin remarked the last day of summer break, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. He'd followed Sam after a vision knocked him flat.

"Yeah," Sam said, pressing a square of toilet paper against his freely bleeding nose. "Haven't been outside in months, no contact with anyone I usually spend time with. It's like avoiding the dementors all over again."

Lupin chuckled. "I can appreciate that. Sirius is a little stir-crazy, too. I expect most everyone is." He hesitated. "If you don't mind me asking…"

"This one was with the others," Sam said tiredly. "Hogwarts, as a battleground, and everyone getting killed. It looks like a few years from now, no more than five."

He'd put it together somewhere around Harry's fifteenth birthday, when he'd seen the other boy struck dead by Voldemort in the forest. Hagrid had been in chains in the background, and Sam had figured it out.

"When you say everyone…" Remus said slowly.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I only see the ones who die. The ones who live, I don't see." He wasn't going to mention that Lupin was one of the ones he'd seen, as was Tonks, as were half the Order members Sam knew and a lot of people he'd never met.

"Sam?" one of the girls asked tentatively. He glanced over to see Ginny. "Book list," she said, holding up a letter. "The others've already opened theirs, there's only two new books."

"Thanks," Sam said. He started to reach to take it, but his hands were streaked with blood. His mind turned the streaks into rivers, the rivers into pools, dripping down his arms in long, sinuous trails - he was a _killer_ , that's all he was, all he was good at, all he could ever be, who was he kidding-

"Sam, you need to look at me."

Sam glanced up and locked his eyes on Lupin's face. Lupin was a werewolf. Lupin was dangerous. Lupin was a friend.

Dangerous. Friend. No.

Sam felt his hands curl in something and pull hard, felt pinpricks of painful pressure on his skull, but he didn't make the connection until someone else was grabbing his hands and saying, "Pulling your hair out isn't going to help. No, Ginny, stay back - don't get close-"

He was a danger. He, Sam, was dangerous. Ginny shouldn't get close. He would hurt her.

"Get your mother. Sam, look at me."

Mother. Sam didn't have a mother. Sam didn't have parents. _He isn't anybody's! **Hunter at Hogwarts!** Stupid useless fairy freak. Dangerous. Fuck-up. Fucked-up. Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhy-_

_He's in the same crumbling castle. "No, please," he whimpered. "Not again."_

_The same spells, shattering the windows, destroying the bridges. It was a bird's-eye view this time, and he saw giants being repelled with Devil's Snare, Sprout flinging mandrakes over the wall, Trelawney pelting Death Eaters with crystal balls. Mrs. Weasley killed a woman with a spell meant to tailor clothes. Voldemort was killed._

"We win," Sam gasped. "When it's over, when it's all over, Voldemort is dead."

_There were bodies on the floor and the stench of blood and rotting meat in the air. A pyre outside for the enemy dead. A man with yellow eyes grinning at him over the flames, and when Sam blinked he was gone._

"Sam?"

Sam took a deep breath and jerked back, hitting something hard, they were close, too close-

The person in front of him moved back a little, and Sam's eyes focused. "Lupin," he whispered.

"I'm right here," he said. "You back?"

"Yeah. Sorry," he said automatically.

Lupin reached slowly over his head and took down a bottle with green liquid. "Professor Snape dropped this off last night," he said, keeping his voice low. "It took him a little while, but he found a pain potion you should be able to take."

Sam accepted the bottle. "Thanks," he said, and drank it down. It mixed with the blood in his throat.

The pounding in his head lessened, then stopped altogether. Lupin lifted his chin and squinted. "Looks like your nose isn't bleeding anymore."

"Huh." Sam wiped his face with another square of toilet paper. Lupin took his arm and helped him to stand, and then Sam washed his face.

"So?"

Sam looked in the mirror. Lupin looked nervous and horribly guilty, and Sam almost laughed. He fought back the impulse and said, "We win. Heavy casualties, but Voldemort is dead. Under five years." The man with yellow eyes he kept to himself. He'd been haunting Sam's nightmares since his father had first told him about him; it wasn't surprising he was showing up in whatever Sam's mind was doing, especially not now that he'd gotten bad enough to need psychiatric help. There was a great rush of bitterness over that, and he squashed it ruthlessly.

"You should rest," Lupin said quietly, and Sam went back to bed.

He was woken three hours later - the longest unbroken sleep he'd gotten in _years_ \- by Ginny slipping in.

"Uh?" he mumbled.

"Just bringing some food," she said quietly.

"Thanks," Sam said blearily, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Not a problem." She glanced at him, blushed, and looked away.

Sam belatedly realized his state of dress and scrambled to pull on a shirt, blushing himself. The roast beef, potatoes, and butterbeer were all very good.

"Ron and Hermione made prefect," she told him as he ate. "That's all the boys but Fred and George. Mum's expecting me to make it next year. You're lucky you don't have older brothers to live up to."

Sam's stomach hollowed. "I've got an older brother," he said quietly.

Ginny's eyes widened. "You _do?_ "

"Yeah," he said. "Dean. Four years older than I am."

"Do you talk to him much?" she asked eagerly. "What's he like?"

"Swallowed the hunting party line," Sam answered.

Ginny winced. "So - how did he -"

"Not well," Sam interrupted. "Can we change the subject?"

"Erm. How are you?"

Sam sniggered, relaxing a bit. "I'm fine, and you?"  
***  
The next morning, Sam slipped outside just after breakfast with his defense textbook, which he'd charmed to look like a Muggle newspaper, and sat on the curb. He enjoyed the air on his face, his first breath of the outside since they'd left the Weasleys' home at the beginning of July. The book was dreadfully dull and he found himself focusing on the wind and the smell of a city, regretting not being able to meet with Lianne and Christina just once all summer. He got the feeling they'd be owling quite a bit - if they wanted anything to do with him, after last year. Had they argued with Dumbledore? Had they been tired of dragging him all over the place?

The door opened behind him, and Sam stood and stretched out the kinks in his back. Everyone hurried down the steps as he surreptitiously shrank the book and slipped it into his pocket. "Everyone here?" Mrs. Weasley snapped, doing a quick head count.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry asked.

"She's waiting for us just up here," Mrs. Weasley said, leading them down the street. An old woman in a purple fedora grinned at them all and fell into step.

"Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis," Mrs. Weasley moaned. "If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again, but Fudge won't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days…. _How_ Muggles can stand traveling without magic-"

"Oh, it's a nice day," Sirius said comfortably. "Breeze to our backs."

Then they split: Harry with Sirius and Tonks; Ginny, Fred, and George with Mrs. Weasley; and Ron, Hermione, and Sam with Lupin. It took them just under half an hour to reach King's Cross, and another five for all four of them to get onto the platform without raising suspicion.

"No trouble?" Moody asked.

"None," Lupin confirmed.

"I'll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore. That's the second time he's not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus."

"Well, look after yourselves," Lupin said, shaking everyone's hand and clapping Harry's shoulder. "Be careful."

"Make trouble," Sirius said, pulling Harry into a hug. Harry returned it fiercely.

"Keep your head down and your eyes peeled," Moody corrected. "And don't forget, all of you - careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all."

"It's been great meeting all of you," Tonks said, hugging Hermione and Ginny. "We'll see you soon, I expect."

The train whistle sounded; Mrs. Weasley said, "Quick, quick - write - be good - If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on-" while hugging people at random, though Sam escaped; and then they all ran onto the train.

"Well," Sam said awkwardly, looking at them.

"See you," Harry said.

So released, Sam hurried out to find his friends. All but Draco and Pansy, who he was quickly told had been made prefect, were crammed into one compartment, and they greeted him excitedly when he opened the door. They passed the time until they reached Hogwarts swapping stories of the summer. Sam altered a few details and told them about the alp-luachra hunt from the year before.

Draco and Pansy returned, necessitating a change in seating arrangements. The carriages were designed for a comfortable four or squashed six, and eight was pushing it. Sam and Theo ended up on the floor, Sam leaning against the wall and Theo against Millie's legs. No change on that front, then.

Millie smiled a wicked smile that usually preceded one of her jokes. "What's Professor Binns' blood type?"

Sam looked at Pansy, who looked back and shrugged.

" _Bore_ -blood," Millie said, drawing hoots of laughter.

Eventually the fifteen-minute warning came over the speakers, and they turned their backs on each other to dress quickly in the cramped compartment. That done, they hurried out to wait in the corridor, having learned from experience it was easiest to be the first ones out. As he had in years previous, Sam petted the thestral while his friends boarded, and then he joined them.

Sam hoped this year would be better than the last, though he was hard-pressed to find any way it could possibly be worse.


	3. Umbridge

Just five new Slytherins joined them this year, and they all clapped and cheered for each of them. When Rose Zeller had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, Dumbledore stood to say, "To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands, welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in."

Sam made himself a salad. While Mrs. Weasley was a wonderful cook, her meals were filling and heavy. He'd missed the lighter foods he enjoyed but hadn't felt right asking her to do more work.

"Going vegetarian?" Blaise asked him, eyes dancing wickedly.

Sam laughed. "Not quite."

When everyone had finished their dinner, Dumbledore stood once more for their usual reminders: stay out of the deadly forest, don't curse people, magic isn't allowed in corridors.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year," he continued, and Sam paid attention. "We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Sam clapped politely, as did most of the rest of the hall.

Dumbledore had not even finished his next sentence when he was cut off by Umbridge standing. Sam and his friends looked at each other incredulously; did she not know how things were done at this school?

 _"Hem hem,"_ Umbridge said, and Dumbledore sat down to look at her. Sprout's eyebrows had raised into her wispy hair; McGonagall's mouth had thinned; Snape's expression was that of someone secretly planning to throttle whomever was closest.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," Umbridge said. Her voice was high-pitched and nasally, like a small child's, and Sam did not look forward to the prospect of having to listen to her speak all year. "Well! It is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!"

Not one person that Sam could see was returning Umbridge's smile. In face, all of them looked surprised and disgusted to be talked down to.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!" She cleared her throat again - _"Hem hem!_ \- before continuing in a more businesslike tone, "The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young wizards and witches to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction."

Sam remembered long days of learning to control himself, teaching himself to control whatever was wrong with him so his father wouldn't get angry, and discounted the possibility they would have been 'nothing'. Instruction _helped_ , it didn't _create_ , and that inability to distinguish the two spelled very bad things for the coming year.

"...without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation. 

"We must be careful with any changes we make, because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what ought to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

She sat down, drawing a small bit of applause from the teachers and those few students who had realized she'd finished speaking. Most all of them had tuned out.

Sam ignored Dumbledore, turning over what he'd heard and making sense of it. _Openness, effectiveness, and accountability_ \- he heard Sirius's voice in his ear: 'It's so much more comfortable to decide Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him.'

The upper echelons of the Ministry wanted to interfere at Hogwarts, and Umbridge was their agent of change.

Clattering roused him from thought: Dumbledore had dismissed the school. "Password's 'lunarium'," Pansy told them, skating by to collect the first-years.

Theodore didn't even bother with his own bed this year, instead putting his trunk at the foot of Sam's and curling under the covers with him. While Sam woke repeatedly from nightmares and bits of visions, his nose didn't bleed once.

He didn't deserve his friends.

Draco cornered him the next morning. "How are you on a broom?" he asked.

Sam finished pulling on his socks. "Um, not that great, why?"

"We need two new beaters and a keeper for Quidditch. I thought you'd be a good beater."

" _Why?_ " Sam asked, bewildered.

"You're a hunter, I thought you'd have good aim," Draco said.

Sam looked up at him through his bangs, still wet from the shower he'd taken after his morning run, and tied his shoes. "Well, I do, but-"

"It's settled, then," Draco said decisively. "Meet me here after classes and we'll get you ready for tryouts."

He left the room before Sam could do more than stand up and open and close his mouth helplessly. Blaise slung an arm around his shoulder. "He's a Malfoy, they do it to everyone," the other boy informed him. "Now. Breakfast?"

None of them were surprised to see that their schedules hadn't changed from the one they'd gotten in third year, and Sam strolled up to Arithmancy after he was finished eating. Then came Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration.

While difficult, Arithmancy was also the only class in Hogwarts to give out House points during review games - in fact, it was the only class to _have_ review games - and as they had for the previous two years, Sam and Hermione dominated easily.

They began dream interpretation in Divination. Sam wrote down what he could remember, though he was unsure which were visions, which were dreams, and which mixed the two so thoroughly there was no separating the parts.

Sam paired with Draco, who immediately began talking about the color blue in a whirlwind around him. Sam was mostly thankful he didn't need to reveal any of his own. Then Trelawney assigned them a month's dream diary, and Sam scowled. 

They worked on bowtruckles during Care of Magical Creatures, keeping them calm with wood lice while they drew the tiny, stick-like creatures under the eye of Grubbly-Plank, who was once more standing in for Hagrid. They began Vanishing Charms in Transfiguration, though Sam, whose head had begun aching badly as they walked back to the castle, couldn't recall the lesson at all by the end of dinner, when Draco towed him out to the Quidditch pitch.

"Let's see how you fly," he ordered Sam, and he spent the next hour or so learning to control a broom. The strange worry from first year was gone, replaced with a thrill of excited fear and exhilaration whenever he rose higher than fifty feet and turned quickly.

"We'll work on beating tomorrow," Draco said when they put the brooms away. "Tryouts are on Saturday. We'll get you ready by then."

Sam almost dropped the broom. " _Saturday?_ "

"Yes. Oh, don't look so stupid, you'll be fine."

They began the next day with double Potions, with the Gryffindors as always.

"Before we begin today's lesson," Snape said, "I think it appropriate to remind you all that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my displeasure.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye - but we have another happy year to go before that moment of farewell, so whether you are intending to attempt NEWT or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students."

He flicked his wand, causing instructions for the Draught of Peace to appear on the board, and set them to work. It was a difficult potion, fiddly and precise. Ten minutes before the end of class, Snape came around to look through them. Sam's potion was giving off a shimmering vapor, slightly heavier than it should be but acceptable. Goyle's potion was neon green rather than silver, and Crabbe's was electric blue. Somebody's smelled like sulfur, and nearly everyone's was producing brightly-colored smoke.

"Now what is this supposed to be?" he heard Snape say.

"The Draught of Peace," Harry said tersely, and Sam busied himself with packing up to avoid the ensuing humiliation. When ordered, he ladled his potion into a flask, labeled it, corked it, and took it to Snape's desk. Goyle's potion exploded when he attempted to do the same.

Following a chicken-sandwich lunch, Sam and his fellow Slytherins went to Defense. This was their first lesson with Umbridge, and while they'd heard whispers, none were sure how much was fact and how much fiction.

"Good afternoon!" she chirped when they were all seated. When nobody answered, she clucked her tongue and said, "That simply won't do! I should like you, please, to reply, 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please - good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they mumbled, looking askance at each other. If this rumor was true, maybe the others were, as well.

"There, now, that wasn't difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Sam arranged his usual parchment and pen in front of him and waited.

Umbridge looked at him. " _Quills_ out," she repeated.

Sam blinked at her. Surely she couldn't be serious? It wrote - wasn't that the important thing?

Blaise poked his thigh and passed him a quill, shooting him a warning look. Sam took it - it wasn't worth getting into an argument this early in the year.

"Now that we all have the _proper_ tools," she said sweetly, opening her handbag and pulling out a short, stout wand, "I should like to inform you all that, lacking though your previous instruction may have been, this year we shall follow a carefully-structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic that will get you to the appropriate level to take your OWLs. Copy, please."

She tapped the board, and words in neat script appeared:

_**Defense Against the Dark Arts  
A Return to Basic Principles  
__________________________  
Course Aims:  
1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.  
2\. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.  
3\. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.** _

For a few minutes, nothing was heard but the scratching of quills. Sam, unused to the feathers, had to rewrite words repeatedly because they were illegible - and then he remembered he could always borrow the notes from his friends, and relaxed. Oddly, this made him make fewer errors.

"Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

A few of them nodded, Sam included.

Umbridge sighed. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge' or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," they chanted.

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

With two of the rumors confirmed - unanimity in answers and no magic in class - Sam chose to not make waves. He had no interest in getting detention for a week, as someone had told someone else Harry Potter had done. And with Umbridge from the Ministry, which was refusing to listen to its police division, making waves would be the worst kind of foolishness for a foreign hunter.

Sam bent over his book and forced himself to read the stupidly dull sentences, and then after dinner they gathered around their table in the common room and divided their homework.

To everyone's great relief, their first Charms class was a review of Summoning Charms, which Theo had mastered the previous year; they left the room without injury and with the order to work out a way to prevent objects from being summoned.

"Lock it in a cage," Theo grumbled, drawing laughs from the rest of them.

Saturday was as disgustingly rainy as the rest of the week had been, so after lunch Sam performed his usual water-proofing charm and followed Draco down to the field. He wasn't _terrible_ , now that he could fly a bit better - he'd been trained exceptionally well in hitting things accurately, and the thing to remember when using a bat was that it was longer and would deflect oddly.

An hour after they had gone down, the rest of the Quidditch team and a few hopefuls trooped in. Draco and Sam flew down to meet them.

"All right, you lot," the seventh-year captain told them, "We need two Beaters, a Keeper, and a Chaser. Anyone here going for Keeper?"

Not one person stepped forward.

"Chaser?"

Two third-years and a fourth-year Sam didn't know both came forward, and the seventh-year pointed upwards. "All three of you, fly around the pitch. No use trying you out if you can't fly worth a damn."

The three of them took off. One of the third-years fell off halfway around, necessitating a trip to the hospital wing and a temporary halt to tryouts.

"Moron," Draco muttered contemptuously.

The other two, both girls, completed a circuit, and then took turns passing with the two Chasers already on the team while Draco played at Keeper.

"All right, we'll let you know our decision," the captain said briskly when they touched down. "You three, all going for Beater? Do a lap."

That didn't take them long to complete, and when they'd touched down again, he handed all three of them bats. "Hit the bludgers to each other. Don't break anything. Go."

Sam, Crabbe, and Goyle beat the balls at each other for about ten minutes before the captain called a halt.

"Any of you interested in keeping at all?" he asked.

Crabbe and Goyle both shook their heads; Draco piped up, "Sam can do it."

"Dr-"

"Shut it. Look, I suggested Beater because a hunter with a bat will freak out the other teams. Crabbe and Goyle work together much better than you do with either, and neither of them is any good at hand-eye. It's you or the fourth-year who dropped the Quaffle," Draco said bluntly.

Sam stayed silent for a moment, and then said with forced calm, "Keeper it is, then."  
***  
On Sunday morning, Draco got his first package of the school year. He scanned the letter, then said in a low voice, "Let's go out to the grounds."

They grabbed their things and followed him out to sit under a willow near the lake. Draco looked around, then said without preamble, "Umbridge is getting more power. It'll be in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow."

"What?" Sam blurted.

"The Ministry have created a new post. Hogwarts High Inquisitor. She'll be able to evaluate and fire teachers at will."

"So?" Theo asked. "Maybe we'll finally get rid of Binns."

Draco shook his head grimly. "She's known for passing legislation against part-humans and anyone she sees as a drafting legislation against groups she sees at threats. Part-humans - I wouldn't count on Hagrid being around much longer, if he even comes back. And hunters. Sam, you need to be careful."

Sam nodded. "I will be."

"Good."

Everyone looked worried, and that drove home how much power Umbridge was being given. Sam had gotten along abysmally with Lockhart, but he was a complete idiot. Umbridge was intelligent enough to draft legislation, which spelled trouble if he got on her bad side.

"Anyone up for a game of Snap?" Theo asked at last, pulling out his deck of cards.

The rest of the school got the news the next morning. Most reacted indifferently, though a few of the older Slytherins crowed happily and some of the Ravenclaws started yelling in the hallways.

In Potions on Tuesday, their moonstone essays were returned. Sam had been awarded an O; Snape threatened detention for anyone who had done poorly enough to receive a D.

"What the hell is an O?" he whispered to Blaise, who was working next to him.

Blaise's eyes widened comically and he suppressed a laugh. "Tell you later," he whispered back.

At lunch, all of his friends started laughing when Blaise told them. "I keep forgetting you're from America," Millie said. "What's the grading system there?"

"A is the best, then B, C, D, F. C is average. Some schools do different rankings until third grade - stuff like 'needs improvement', 'improving', 'mastered', that sort of thing," Sam explained.

"Really?" Pansy asked, looking interested.

"Really," Sam confirmed. "Come on, then, what's this grading shit?"

"O is for 'Outstanding'," Millie said.

"Then 'E' for 'Exceeds Expectations'," Theo put in. "'A' for 'Acceptable', and that's the lowest pass."

"'P' for 'Poor', 'D' for 'Dreadful', and 'T' for 'Troll'," Pansy finished. "You have to be really thick to get a T, though."

Double Defense that afternoon again passed with nothing but reading a chapter. Remembering Draco's warning, Sam kept his mouth shut and planned out a letter to Lupin asking what spells would show up on the OWL so he could practice in secret.

The next morning, he got a letter:

_Hello, Sam! It's been a while. Came to visit you in hospital in the spring, but you were unconscious. Wish you could have come with us this summer - took out a kelpie nest in July. That was what we did the night before we met, remember?_

Sam _did_ remember, in point of fact. He also remembered the curdled look of Fudge's complexion when they started discussing details.

_Anyway. We're just hunting. Having a devil of a time finding ammunition for some of our guns now - you wouldn't know a spell for that, would you? Only joking! (Except, if you do, let us know.)_

_Take care of yourself. Not just the physical shit, either. Next summer, you'll hopefully be able to come back to us, and we can hunt for another few months. We missed you._

_We also got engaged, so let us know when your breaks are - we want you to come to the wedding. Be safe and focus on your studies!_

_Lianne and Christina_

"What's up?" Blaise asked him when he folded the paper.

Sam grinned. "Lianne and Christina - the women I usually spend the summers with - they're engaged," he said gleefully. "And they still want me to spend time with them."

Theo clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Tell them congratulations from us."

"I will," Sam promised.

"We should get going," Pansy said, checking her watch. "It's Herbology next."

That afternoon was their first inspected lesson: Care of Magical Creatures. Umbridge spent the period wandering through the group and firing questions about magical creatures at them. Sam didn't hear one person get an answer wrong, and though Umbridge talked to everyone else, she didn't once speak to him.

After a thorough interrogation of Dean Thomas, Umbridge turned to Grubbly-Plank. "Overall, how do you, as a temporary member of staff - an objective outsider, I suppose you might say - how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent," Grubbly-Plank said promptly. "No, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed."

Umbridge marked something on her clipboard. "And what are you planning to cover this year - assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?"

"Oh, I'll take them through the creatures most likely to come up n OWL. Now much left to do - they've studied unicorns and nifflers, I thought we'd study porlocks and kneazles, make sure they can recognize crups and knarls, you know."

"Well, _you_ seem to know what you're doing, at any rate," Umbridge said, making an exaggerated check mark on her paper. Then she turned to Goyle: "Now, I understand there have been injuries in this class?"

He nodded shortly, but didn't volunteer further. Nobody else did either, forcing Umbridge to ask, "Have you been injured?"

Goyle shook his head. "Sam," he grunted.

Sam took a step closer. "I - er - I got in the way of an angry hippogriff," he said sheepishly. "Stupid of me."

"A hippogriff?" Umbridge repeated. "And why was there an angry hippogriff in class?"

"Because somebody insulted him," Sam said mildly. "I flew one around the field earlier in the same class...Hagrid knows what he's doing, but when people don't want to listen, I mean - it's like kicking a dog and expecting it not to bite."

Umbridge eyed him coldly and said, "If I want a student's opinion on a creature, _hunter_ , I will ask for it." She turned back to Grubbly-Plank. "You will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

"Good," Grubbly-Plank said, looking slightly taken aback.

That night, Sam went to the library and wrote two letters.

_Lianne and Christina -_

_Congratulations on your engagement! My friends say congratulations, too - I hope you don't mind I shared the good news? I'm on break December 20 to January 5, but don't feel like you have to wait for me if you want to schedule it sometime better._

_Stupid kelpies. Glad you both got out all right._

_I may know a spell, actually. It's called a Never-Out Charm - I usually use it on pens (and my friends' inkpots - they still use QUILLS here, wizards are nuts), but it should work fine on a magazine. I'll experiment and let you know._

_I joined the Quidditch team. Quidditch is kind of like ~~soccer~~ football mixed with rugby, played fifty feet in the air and with balls that try to break your arms. I'm the goalie._

_Like I said: Wizards are nuts._

_Take care of yourselves,  
Sam_

He folded it, sealed it, and marked it _L &C_ before he wrote a second one, asking Lupin for advice on what to study and if he knew any way to force his Animagus hand to become visible. That done, he found a secluded corner and focused on changing his arms.

Over the next weeks, Sam went to four Quidditch practices, which were incredibly boring. He spent most of his time catching the enlarged ball Draco tossed at hoops while the others worked on their own positions. Only the last ten minutes of each were spent on teamwork, with the Snitch released, Crabbe and Goyle aiming to unseat the Chasers, and the Chasers trying to score on the goals Sam was defending. He never let any through, which he put down to the Chasers being unused to working together.

He had a worrying thought after the third practice, which he brought up when he was walking back to the castle with Draco. "What if I have a vision while I'm in the air?"

"You haven't had one in a few weeks, have you?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, I have," Sam said. "Not bad enough to knock me out, but they haven't been _great,_ either. What if it happens?"

"Then somebody will catch you and we'll play without a Keeper for the rest of the match. Stop worrying."

Lianne and Christina wrote him back, and he was able to tell them that yes, the Never-Out Charm worked on gun magazines and promise to perform it on their own guns over the break. Lupin also wrote back, telling him which spells were most likely to come up (a list which he shared with his year-mates); letting him know that short of dipping his hand in ink and putting it on a piece of parchment, he had no idea how to make his hand visible; and that Sam would be spending his winter break at Grimmauld Place anyway and that he would be able to go to the wedding without issue.

Hermione cornered him just before Arithmancy the last week of October. "Hogsmeade this weekend," she said without preamble.

When she didn't go on, Sam said, "...Yes?"

"We're starting a Defense club. Would you be interested?"

"What sort of Defense club?"

"To practice spells Umbridge doesn’t want us knowing," she said. "OWL prep, dueling practice. We've got to be able to defend ourselves."

"And what do you want from me?"

"Well." She hesitated. "Well, I haven't discussed this with Harry or Ron yet, but - but we've asked Harry to teach us, but you've got quite a bit of experience, too, so I thought maybe you two could switch off?"

"Teaching you?" Sam repeated incredulously. "You want me to teach you?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly. "You killed the basilisk, you've fought before, you could teach us a lot."

For a moment, Sam considered it. He could be useful; he could help.

Then reality came crashing in. "Nobody would want to learn from me," he said, shaking his head. "And with Umbridge...I'm sorry, Hermione, but no. I have to keep my nose clean this year."

Hermione looked sad, and Sam said, "Tell you what. I wrote to Lupin - he sent me back the common spells for OWL year. I'll get you a copy of the list."

Hermione brightened. "Thanks!"

"Just be careful," Sam warned her. "Umbridge won't be happy."

"Study groups are allowed," Hermione said, not sounding nearly as confident as she probably tried to.

Hogsmeade weekends passed as they always did: with Filch checking them off against a list of permitted students, the long walk down to the town, and then wandering around for a few hours. Millie and Theo held hands most of the day, giving Sam a sick feeling, and he did his best to not look. When they were in the Three Broomsticks, he ducked into a bathroom stall rather than trouble his friends with the vision of a man he didn't know getting killed by a woman with a spike coming out of her palm.

On Monday, a notice was pinned to the bulletin boards in all the common rooms:

**\-----BY ORDER OF-----  
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded.  
An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.  
Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).  
No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.  
Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High inquisitor will be expelled.

_The above is in accordance with  
Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

Signed:  
Dolores Jane Umbridge  
HIGH INQUISITOR

Of fucking _course_ Hermione, Ron, and Harry would cause something like this. God forbid they practice spells on their own like _normal_ students, they just _had_ to screw up badly enough to get _every single student group banned._

"You know," Millie said loudly, "this means classes count."

"So do meals," a fourth-year added slyly.

"Quidditch matches."

"The library regulars."

"The hallways between classes."

"Year-mates."

"Maybe we'll get out of NEWTs," a seventh-year said mockingly.

On it went, almost everyone having something to say about the definition set forth to them, and Sam had to laugh at some of the truly creative ones before they went up to breakfast.

Hermione shoved him against a wall just before Arithmancy. Sam let her do it.

"Why?" she spat at him.

"Why what?" he repeated.

"Why did you blab to Umbridge about-"

"Why the hell would I tell her _anything?_ " Sam snapped.

"You're the only one who knew and didn't sign-"

"Knew what, that you were planning on starting a _study group?_ " Sam talked right over her: "Fat lot of good it did, right? Completely destroyed everything else." Just like her little band of friends always did, though he wasn't going to say it aloud.

"At least we're _trying!_ " Hermione spat, spraying him. "What are you doing?"

"Why should I do anything?" Sam glared at her. "You want to go off on your suicidal run to piss of Umbridge, go ahead. But don't take the consequences of _your_ actions out on me."

Hermione glared back, then deflated. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Just...calm down, okay?"

"Yeah," Hermione said dully. "Look, here come Lisa and Terry and Ernie...class is about to start."

"Hermione," Ernie said in a low voice when they reached them, "we need to talk to you."

"If it's about the club, we're doing it anyway," Hermione said quietly.

Terry purpled. "He-"

"Hermione asked me to come last week," Sam said coolly. "I declined."

Vector opened the door before anyone could say anything further.

Potions the next morning was another inspected lesson. They were continuing with Strengthening Solutions, which Sam could very easily see the use for and so paid close attention.

A half hour into class, just after he added the salamander blood to his cauldron, Umbridge approached Snape, who was looking into Dean's cauldron.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she said briskly. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

"She better watch herself," Millie whispered delightedly. "Snape's not going to take that kindly."

"Now," Umbridge said, "how long have you been at Hogwarts?"

"Fourteen years."

"You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?"

"Yes."

Sam grabbed Pansy's hand and said quietly, "Eye of newt, not frog's eggs."

"Right," she said vaguely, picking up the correct bottle.

"And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school?"

"Yes."

Sam turned down the heat under his cauldron and stirred thrice clockwise.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?"

"I suggest you ask him."

"Oh, I shall."

"I suppose this is relevant?"

Millie grabbed Theo and pointed to a bottle other than the one he was holding. He, too, had gotten so engrossed in the conversation he'd neglected his potion.

"Oh, yes. Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds. Miss Parkinson." Umbridge turned smartly around, her pink robes very bright in the dimness of the dungeon. "What would happen if I put together a bezoar and vinegar?"

"It would explode," Pansy said promptly, measuring out pomegranate juice.

That night, Sam slipped away on the pretext of going to the library. He found a secluded corner of the dungeons, opened a bottle of ink, and mumbled, _"Melenjhan werrmen._ "

His hand vanished once more, and he dipped it in ink, getting a better idea of where his shifted skin ended. Then he pressed it to the blank parchment for five seconds, lifted it, and undid the spell. A perfectly-outlined dog's paw stared up at him from the page.

At least now he knew what it was, and he flipped the parchment over and scribbled a note:

_Sirius,  
Any idea what an invisible dog could be? I'm coming up blank.  
Sam_


	4. Detention

Theo was still so incredibly bad at Charms that Flitwick flat refused to give him a bullfrog or raven to practice on, instead giving him a bee, with the rationale that bees couldn't feel pain if they got set on fire.

Sam got a letter back from Sirius the day after he sent off the pawprint, with a list of books. A note at the bottom in a different hand, most likely Lupin's, added that it was unlikely to be in any of them but that he should check anyway, and if worse came to worst he could complete the transformation at Grimmauld Place and Sirius could sniff him out. 

As time continued, Quidditch practices got steadily more common. Sam could now catch the Quaffle ninety-eight times out of a hundred; their Chasers were much better at playing with and off each other; Crabbe and Goyle were proving themselves surprisingly adept at aiming the Bludgers; and Draco was catching the Snitch regularly.

Meanwhile, the rest of the school was just as ridiculous. More than one member of their teams ended up in the infirmary - Alicia Spinnet, one of Gryffindor's Chasers, grew eyebrows so thick they obstructed her vision; Crabbe was sent up with boils the size of both Sam's fists put together; Katie Bell got hit with a Jig Curse and had to dance from the dungeons to the third floor to see Pomfrey for the counter. Sam took to placing shields around himself whenever he went out into the school, as he had the previous year.

The morning of their first game, the newest Chaser looked green. "Just some toast," Sam told her kindly.

"I must've been _nuts_ ," she croaked.

Sam snorted. "I think every single goddamn person in this building is nuts. I mean, come on, disappearing doors and steps? A poltergeist left to roam free? Dementors let loose on the ground? Still using _quills?_ Quidditch is the sanest thing about this place."

"We know," Theo said lazily. "For the record, America sounds just as bonkers to us."

Sam flipped him the bird.

"Time to go," said Montague, their captain, and the team stood. The Slytherin table cheered them on the way out.

Spirits were high in the locker room as they changed, everyone heckling each other. Sam found the new Chaser, Clara Oswald, and sat down beside her. "Just do your best, okay? Nobody expects more than that."

"Listen up," Montague barked. "Gryffindor's got a new Keeper, Ron Weasley. From all accounts he's rubbish, but don't get complacent. His whole family's good at Quidditch. Crabbe, Goyle, remember not to hit him unless the Quaffle's in the scoring area. Winchester, block everything. Malfoy, don't get distracted, just look for the Snitch. 

"Okay? Let's go."

They walked out onto the pitch to wait for the Gryffindors to appear. When they did, Madam Hooch ordered, "Captains, shake hands."

Montague and Angelina Johnson did their best to break bone.

"Mount your brooms," she ordered, and blew her whistle.

Sam took off, making for the goalposts like a bat out of hell, and waited to pay attention to the rest of play when he made it there. He listened to the commentary with one ear, using it to mark who had the Quaffle, which was easily lost in the scarlet of Gryffindors' robes at a distance.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me-"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall bellowed. From what Sam recalled of the earlier matches he'd been to, McGonagall had to chastise him regularly.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest. And she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's - _ouch_ \- been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe. Montague catches the Quaffle" - Sam relaxed and drifted a little off-center - "Montague heading back up the pitch and - nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away, dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger-"

Sam could see her now, flying up the pitch, robes flapping behind her. He swallowed and straightened, trying to predict which hoop she'd aim for.

"Close call, Alicia! And the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're saying?"

Sam didn't have time to pay attention to them, because Alicia Spinnet was still streaking toward him, her fellow Chasers flanking her, and Sam saw their plan: Alicia would pass to whichever side he left unguarded, and they could then try for either the hoop they were in front of or for the middle one. Sam stayed solidly in front of the middle hoop, watching for the way she leaned - her body would tell him the hoop she was aiming for, but then-

"Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Sam looked to his left, tracking the Quaffle. There was nobody else between them - Alicia and the other Chaser, Sam didn't know her name, had peeled away - Angelina reeled back, Quaffle in her right hand, and her torso told him she'd be going for the left hoop. He dove, waited for the Quaffle to reach him, and then tossed it forty feet to Montague.

"Winchester putting that hunter's build to use!" Jordan cried. "Don't think anyone's ever passed it that far before….Montague passes to Warrington, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range wih just the Keeper ahead, so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team, come on, Ron!"

The Slytherin side of the stands screamed happily: clearly, Ron had missed and they had scored.

"Slytherin score!" Jordan cried. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin - bad luck, Ron-"

Sam's head split open; he grabbed blindly for the broom and hunched over, shaking. His vision showed him nothing but a man he didn't know with a rosebush growing explosively beneath, then through, him. Blood dripped off the white flowers, creating patterns. _Witch,_ Sam thought hazily.

His vision cleared, and he vomited from the pain.

"Winchester's looking bad-"

"Sam," Draco said urgently, stopping beside him and grabbing his arm.

"Vision," he croaked. "I'm fine. Get the Snitch."

Hooch zoomed over. "Winchester?"

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, blinking away tears.

"SLYTHERIN SCORES!"

"Malfoy. Out of the scoring area," Hooch said, and zoomed off.

"Go," Sam said through gritted teeth. For once, Draco did as he was told. Sam plugged his freely-bleeding nose and watched the match through smarting eyes.

Slytherin scored twice more before Gryffindor got the Quaffle again: "And Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Oswald, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson take the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now Angelina!"

Sam saw her coming, saw her torso twist right, and he covered the left hoop again.

"Rotten luck, Angelina! Winchester passes to Oswald, Oswald has the Quaffle."

Angelina glared at him and took off. Sam went back to guarding the middle hoop.

"Oswald to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Oswald - Johnson intervenes, Johnson take the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good - er, I mean bad, Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Oswald in possession again."

Harry and Draco suddenly both dove to a spot near the bottom of Slytherin's goalposts, then turned to follow a small glint of gold looping around the pitch.

"THEY'VE SEEN THE SNITCH! Potter and Malfoy in hot pursuit - come on, Harry!"

The Gryffindor stands started cheering. "POTTER GETS THE SNITCH! Final score, hundred fifty to forty, Gryffindor win."

The Snitch was easily the most _stupid_ ball in any game, Sam decided as he returned to the ground.

The next morning, a new Educational Decree was put up in the common rooms:

  
**Educational Decree Number Twenty-Five**   
_The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members.  
Signed,  
Cornelius Fudge_   


Minister of Magic  
Order of Merlin, First Class  
First Chair of the Wizengamot

They looked at each other in disbelief.

"Well," Theo said at last. "Better be careful. Come on, Sam, the lake's frozen enough to teach you how to skate."

He landed on his ass so many times that day it was a wonder he didn't break his tailbone. Millie and Theo, who had apparently been ice-skating since they were small children, took pity on him two hours after they started and dragged him inside for lunch and hot tea.

"Hagrid's back," Theo said, looking up at the staff table.

"Shame," Millie said gloomily. "Grubbly-Plank's a much better teacher."

Though Sam liked Hagrid okay, he had to agree. Grubby-Plank's lessons generally didn't include such a large element of risk that he kept a hand on his knife in case things got ugly.

Their next Care of Magical Creatures class was another inspected lesson, though that wasn't immediately apparent. Umbridge was nowhere in sight when they went down to the cabin.

"We're workin' in here today," Hagrid called, jerking his head back toward the Forbidden Forest and narrowly avoiding unseating the dead cow slung over his shoulder. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

"What prefers the dark?" Draco asked sharply, a note of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark - did you hear?"

They all shook their heads cluelessly, and Sam patted the knife at the small of his back, soothing himself with the reminder that it was there.

"Ready?" Hagrid asked happily. "Right, well, I bin savin' a trip inter the forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Great Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" Draco asked nervously. He had a point, which everyone but Harry and Ron seemed to see - they were all nodding, even Hermione.

"'Course they're trained," Hagrid said, resettling the dead cow. "Now, follow me."

Sam had managed to avoid the forest for all five years of his studenthood, which he considered something of an accomplishment. He still remembered Draco running back into the common room their first year, nearly crying from sheer terror after less than an hour. He took the rear of the group, most of whom were peering about nervously and moving in short bursts. He idly spun his silver dagger through his fingers and kept his eyes peeled.

When the reached a clearing and Hagrid stopped, Sam put the knife away. "Gather roun', gather roun'," Hagrid called. "Now, they'll be attracted to the smell o' the meat bt I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me."

He brushed the hair out of his face, turned around, and cried out something that sounded like a cross between a raven and nails on a chalkboard. The sound echoed around them, and Hagrid did it twice more.

A thestral walked into the clearing, black bat wings furled against its sides, and Sam smiled.

Another was joining the first when Hagrid said, "Oh, an' here comes another one! Now, put your hands up, who can see 'em?"

Sam, Theo, Neville, and Harry all raised their hands.

"Yeah...yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry and Sam," Hagrid said. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An'-"

"Excuse me," Draco interrupted sneeringly, "but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

Hagrid pointed at the dead cow, which was being steadily eaten by the thestrals that had already entered the clearing.

"What's doing it?" Parvati Patil asked shrilly, hurrying behind a tree. Sam supposed seeing long strips being torn off and disappearing would be unnerving. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," Hagrid said. "Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows-"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" Parvati interrupted. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once-"

"No, no, no." Hagrid laughed. "Tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever and useful. 'Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate - an' here's another couple, look!"

Two more entered the clearing and went straight for the meat. One of them walked close by Parvati, who pressed herself against the tree trunk and said, "I think I felt something, I think it's near me."

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," Hagrid said patiently. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see them an' some can't?"

Sam and Hermione both raised their hands. Hagrid nodded at Sam, who said, "We can see them because we've seen someone die."

"Tha's exactly right, ten points ter Slytherin. Now, thestrals-"

 _"Hem, hem._ "

They turned to see Umbridge standing behind them, wearing a green cloak and hat with her clipboard clutched in her stubby hands. Hagrid frowned at the nearest thestral, apparently under the impression it had been the one to make the noise.

 _"Hem, hem,_ " Umbridge said again, and Hagrid located the source of the sound.

"Oh, hello!" He smiled at her.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" Umbridge asked, speaking loudly and slowly. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid said brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see - or, I dunno, can you? We're doin' thestrals today-"

"Sorry?" Umbridge interrupted, putting a hand to her ear.

"Er - _thestrals!_ " he said. "Big - er, winged horses, yeh know!" He flapped his gigantic arms.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows and muttered as she wrote, " _Must resort to crude sign language._ "

"Well - anyway - erm, what was I sayin'?" Hagrid said, looking at the thestral closest to him.

"Appears to have poor short-term memory," Umbridge said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Draco sniggered into his sleeve; Sam, on the other hand, clenched his fists. He sincerely liked Hagrid, and he didn't like hearing Umbridge make out like he was incompetent.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one" - he patted the first thestral to have appeared - "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favorite, firs' one born here in the forest-"

"Are you aware," Umbridge interrupted, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified thestrals as 'dangerous'?"

Hagrid grinned. "Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ', they might take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them-"

"Shows signs of pleasure at idea of violence," Umbridge said, scribbling on her clipboard.

"No, come on!" Hagrid said, looking upset. "I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it - but thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing - people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?"

Umbridge didn't answer the question, instead saying, "Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk" - she used to fingers to show what she meant - "among the students" - she pointed around at them - "and ask them questions."

Hagrid blinked at her, apparently dumbstruck at being talked to like a preschooler, and Sam couldn't blame him. Rage was swelling within him, and he wasn't even the target.

"Erm...anyway," Hagrid said. "So - thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them-"

"Do you find," Umbridge said loudly to Pansy, "that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?"

Pansy looked torn for a moment, and Sam had to hope her desire to have Grubbly-Plank back would lose out to her morality.

It did. "Yes," she said after a brief hesitation.

A thestral butted Sam's shoulder, and he said, "Hey, buddy," a little absently as he reached up to scratch its head.

"Sam?" Hagrid said blankly. "How d'yeh know Tenebrus?"

"I've seen 'em since first year," Sam said easily. "I pet them while everyone else gets in the carriages."

Umbridge narrowed her eyes at him and scratched something out on her clipboard. "You don’t feel the urge to harm them?" she asked.

"Why would I?" Sam asked, speaking loudly and shaking slightly from months of pent-up anger. "They're not hurting anyone. Now, the _dementors_ from a few years ago, them I wouldn't mind hurting."

His friends sucked in breaths. Draco was shaking his head slowly. The Gryffindors were split between wide-eyed amazement and gleeful grins.

"Dementors are a Class Four Restricted Creature, whereas thestrals are Class Five," Umbridge said severely.

Sam looked at the thestral lipping at his hand. "Really? Cause if a dementor was this close, I'd be dead."

"You were dead by your own hand last year, as I recall," Umbridge said softly.

All humor was sucked from the class. "Hey now," Hagrid said sharply.

"I was also technically dead because of a basilisk three years ago," Sam said coldly. "Any other _irrelevant_ trivia you want to bring up?"

"Detention," Umbridge said flatly. "This week, five o'clock, my office. No excuses, Winchester. Hagrid, you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

She turned and stalked off. The thestral whined - Sam's hand had tightened so far he was pulling strands of hair out. He loosened his grip and resumed patting.

On the way back to the castle, the entire class ripped Umbridge apart viciously. Sam stayed silent, still shaking with the rage that had come from nowhere.

Sam skipped dinner that night and went straight to Umbridge's office after Transfiguration.

"Hello, Mr. Winchester," she said sweetly. "You'll be doing lines for me tonight."

Sam nodded shortly and reached down into his bag, but Umbridge held up a hand. "You'll be using a rather special quill of mine. It's right there on the desk."

Sam sat down and reached into his bag again.

"What are you doing now?" Umbridge asked.

"Getting ink."

"Oh, you won't need ink." She laughed, high and short. "Just write. _I must not talk back to authority._ "

Sam put the point of the quill down, wondering what she was playing at, and blinked. A tiny bead of blood pooled on the back of his hand. When he began writing, the blood mimicked the curves.

He was writing in his own blood.

"How many times?" he asked after the first ten sentences.

"As many times as it takes to _sink in._ Off you go, now." She smiled blandly at him, and he returned the smile. She wanted to play? He could play. He'd had broken ribs, severed arteries, bits of him ripped off and eaten. He could take thin cuts on the back of his hand that healed as soon as he dotted the period at the end of the sentences.

He refused to make a sound, even two hours later, when the skin was red and burning. Umbridge called a halt quite some time after that, when the skin had stopped healing entirely and faint white lines remained after he finished the sentence. "Come here and show me your hand," she ordered.

He approached with his hand extended; she took it and examined the back with a critical eye. "A good beginning," she said softly. "We'll continue tomorrow...reinforce the impression."

It was after midnight when he was allowed free, and though Filch caught him out, he let Sam go without comment. By far one of the smartest things he'd ever done was help Filch's cat in his second year and talk to the man on occasion.

He had two essays to finish, and he was up until almost five doing them. At that point it was time for his morning run, so he changed, performed the warming charm, and hit the ground outside, working out his temper the best way he knew how.

Tuesday night's detention passed in much the same way, as did Wednesday's. After an hour on Wednesday night the cuts barely healed at all, just stayed bleeding. Sam continued writing with no complaint.

He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't go to Snape or Dumbledore, or even his friends. He just had the dim idea that this was between him and Umbridge, and he was _not_ going to give her a reason to complain. Besides, what could they do? The High Inquisitor now had complete power over all punishments.

Friday night's cuts bled for hours, even after he was released and had wrapped his hand with a spare napkin. They were still bleeding when he crawled out of bed with Theo and went for his morning run.

He should have known better than to think he could avoid Snape's notice. The man tapped his shoulder just after he'd finished eating and jerked his head. Sam got up and followed him to his office.

"How have you been sleeping?"

"As well as usual," Sam said.

"So not well."

"No, sir."

Snape crossed his arms. "You've also been skipping dinner."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"Detention," Sam said bitterly.

"With?"

"Umbridge," Sam said, knowing his loathing was coming out in his tone and not entirely able to stop it.

Snape's face became, if possible, more closed off. "I have heard tales of her detentions," he said. "What has she had you do?"

"Lines," Sam said. When Snape raised his eyebrows, he elaborated, "With a quill. It - um." He had no idea how to explain it, now. "It's - spelled, um...writes in my blood."

"Let me see," Snape ordered, extending a hand.

Sam gave him his own, and Snape examined it. "How long?"

"Seven or eight hours a day for five days," Sam said dully.

" _I must not talk back to authority,_ " Snape muttered. "Winchester, what did you _say_ to her?"

"She - um - she was inspecting Creatures class, and said something about how thestrals were dangerous, and I - uh - I told her dementors were more dangerous, no matter what the Ministry said."

"Were those your exact words?"

"No, sir. I was, um, I was petting a thestral, at the time, and I told her if a dementor had gotten that close in third year I'd be dead."

Snape nodded slowly and released Sam's hand. "Professor Umbridge is exceptionally defensive of the Ministry. Unfortunately, though Murtlap essence is helpful for such injuries, it would react poorly to your current medication." He reached into his desk and proffered a bottle to Sam. "I believe you are running low by now."

"Thanks," Sam said, accepting it.

Snape nodded curtly. "I should also warn you that she is sitting in on career consultations this year."

"Career…?"

"Consultations, Winchester," Snape said irritably. "Fifth-years meet with their Head of House to discuss career options. It would be best for you to have at least some idea."

Sam blinked. "I - I guess I just _assumed_ \- nobody gets out of hunting peacefully, Professor, I just…."

"I thought that might be the case." Snape fixed him with a look. "I would suggest you speak with your friends. If you are still set on hunting in three years, you may pursue it then, but to bring it up with _her_ in the room would be most unwise."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed. And don't forget about the essay on fire opals due Tuesday."

"No, sir," Sam said, and returned to the common room.

That night, his dreams were the usual mix of visions and bits of the day. There was one where a giant snake attacked Mr. Weasley, and he wrote that down in the journal to send to Sirius and Lupin in code.

Christmas break, and the wedding, approached quickly. For the first time in memory Sam would be leaving the castle for break, and his spirits soared. He couldn't swing presents this year, which his friends assured him really wasn't a problem.

He got a letter from Sirius, promising to pass along the message to Mr. Weasley, and one from Lianne telling him where and when the wedding would be held.

In the meantime, he found times of the day where he wouldn't be disturbed and focused on learning to change his arms, and then his legs, into his Animagus form. It was risky, to do it without Sirius or Lupin there to correct any mistakes, but Sam didn't really care.

He also spent some time in the library, looking up transfigurations, and managed to change his ugly dress robes into a passable Muggle suit.

At last, break arrived, and Sam rode the train back to London with his friends, talking and laughing the whole way. Lupin met him at the station, and they walked back. Mr. Weasley had been attacked by a snake the night before, and the Weasleys had gone to visit him earlier that day.

Sirius met them at the door with a cheerful, "Good evening," and after dinner he dragged both Sam and Lupin up to his mother's bedroom once more. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "How far have you gotten?"

Sam stretched out his hands and focused. A breath later, his arms shimmered out of existence, his shirtsleeves disappearing with them.

"What happens to clothes?" he asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

"They become part of your body," Lupin said absently, reaching out and feeling his arms. It was a decidedly odd sensation. "So does your wand. Definitely some type of canine, but the only invisible dog I can think of is a hellhound."

"Is that even possible?" Sirius asked. "I think we've got holy oil in the storeroom, we can take a look."

"Holy oil?" Sam interrupted.

"Very rare, very Dark," Sirius said, examining him critically. "It's been sitting there in a jug for a few hundred years. Back in a jiffy."

He left, and Lupin looked at Sam. "How far can you transform?"

"Not sure," Sam said, and then smiled recklessly. "Let's find out."

He focused, envisioning the yellowish-red pushing out from his sternum and enveloping his torso and legs in ribbons, and then his head.

"You're almost there," Lupin said encouragingly. Sam looked down to see parts of him changed and parts not. "Focus harder, Sam."

Sam did, closing his eyes. It was pouring over him...buckets full of the color, splashing down around his head, which was changing form and losing color - pooling around his feet and legs, doing the same - his torso disappeared under the onslaught-

He hit the floor on all four limbs, and Lupin said, "Well done!" very excitedly. "Er - hang on-" Something hit his back. "So I know where you are," Lupin explained.

The world looked very different. It was all very _red_ , and there were odd circles - almost like a bullseye. It was like he was looking at the world through a fisheye lens.

Sirius entered the room, and Sam turned to look at him. He appeared as green and blue, as was the air around him, as though he had an aura.

Heat waves. Sam had thermal vision.

"He did it," Lupin said.

"I can see that," Sirius said. "We don't have holy oil, it turns out. We've got anointing oil, though why we have _that_ I've no idea."

"Maybe you can see him in _your_ Animagus form?" Remus suggested. Sam turned his head to him - he was more blue than Sirius, so he ran at a different temperature. Interesting - maybe it had to do with him being a werewolf?

A sudden change had him looking back toward Sirius, who was now smaller than he was - he'd transformed. A moment later, a man was standing there again. "Hellhound," Sirius said.

"You're a hellhound," Remus said faintly. " _How?_ "

Sam shrugged, feeling the movement ripple back along muscles he was unaccustomed to having.

"Well," Sirius said, recovering quickly. "That was fast. Er, why don't you change back?"

Sam focused. Purple and green were pooling beneath him and rising, forming him back into human shape. He had feet again, and hands, and a head. He was visible.

It took a few tries, but he got himself back to human.

"Well done," Lupin said warmly, though he still looked shaken.

Sam looked at Sirius. "Good job you're a dog," he said shakily, not sure how he felt about being a hellhound. Clearly, John had been right - there was something _wrong_ with him, deep down, deeper than wizardry could explain.  
***  
The next day, they put up Christmas decorations. Harry was surly and withdrawn, but Sirius sang carols, delighted he would have company over Christmas. Sam tried on the transfigured suit and altered it with spells until it fit. The ceremony was the following day, on the twenty-second, and Sam was so excited for it he could barely sleep.

Lupin accompanied him to the church the next morning after a breakfast of toast and bacon. Mrs. Weasley had fussed over him, the summer apparently forgotten, and Sam put up with it as long as he could before escaping outside.

Lupin left him outside the church, and Sam found a seat near the back, where he could see without being seen. Lianne was waiting at the altar, gorgeous in lilac. The organist played a short tune, and the door opened. Sam turned to see Christina, who had grown out her brown hair, step in.

When she reached the altar, the minister cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, voice ringing through the chapel, "we are gathered here today to witness the union of Christina Albright and Lianne Sepheer." He went on about the power of love for quite some time before he said, "Christina Albright, do you take Lianne Sepheer to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, in poverty and wealth, 'til death do you part?"

"I do," Christina said, sliding a ring onto Lianne's finger.

"Lianne Sepheer, do you take Christina Albright to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, in poverty and wealth, 'til death do you part?"

"I do," Lianne said, sliding a ring on Christina's finger.

"I now pronounce you wives. You may kiss your bride."

Christina grabbed Lianne's face and hauled her in for a deep kiss while the small crowd cheered.

The reception was held the next street over, and most of them walked. The same man who had walked Christina up the aisle fell into step with Sam. "So," he said companionably, "how do you know my daughter? Or daughter-in-law?"

"I, um," Sam said, and then remembered that Lianne came from an old hunting family and Christina's parents were dead. "I hunt with them sometimes."

The man nodded. "You'd be Sam, then? Lianne told us about you. She likes you, young man."

"I like her," Sam said frankly. "She and Christina make a good couple."

"You're probably the closest thing they'll ever have to a son," Lianne's father continued like he hadn't heard. "Don't break their hearts."

"I have no intention of it," Sam assured him.

"Good man." He clapped Sam's shoulder and moved on. "So what was your most ridiculous hunt?"

Sam sniggered. "There was a nest of three-headed snakes once," he said. "Went up in purple flames. Yours?"

"I've more ridiculous hunts than you've ever dreamed of," the man informed him, and promptly launched into tales of them.

Sam barely noticed when they sat down, so enthralled was he in the tales he was being told. "This is Frank," the man said. "My nephew, Lianne's cousin. Frank, this is Sam - he hunts with Lianne when he's not at school."

"Good to meet you," he said cheerfully. "Uncle, did you tell him about the yeti yet?"

Sam didn't get a chance to talk to Lianne and Christina until after dinner was over. When they saw him, they ended up almost smothering him in a hug, and he turned bright red and did his best to pretend he wasn't very, very affected by suddenly having two women's chests right in his face.

"So how's school?" Christina asked.

"Any hunts this time around?" Lianne added.

Sam laughed. "Not quite."

"Sounds like a story," Lianne said with relish.

"Not here," Sam said.

"Later, then," Christina said. "We've a room in town - no use for a honeymoon - so we'll meet up again over your break. Get some wine, catch up."

Sam smiled. "Sounds good," he said, and meant it.  
***  
Christmas approached, bringing with it cheer Sam hadn't felt in quite some time. He could now reliably change from human to hellhound and back again, some of the awkwardness between him and Mrs. Weasley had eased, everyone else's good moods were infectious, and he had the promise of seeing Lianne and Christina again before he left to go back to Umbridge. The biggest damper on his mood was working through being a _hellhound_ ; he shoved it to the back of his mind and refused to think about his form.

He woke on Christmas morning to a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed. His friends had gotten him books on various subjects once more; Sirius and Lupin had gotten him a book of common defensive spells; and Mrs. Weasley had knitted him a thick blue sweater.

Harry and Ron were still asleep. He quietly cleaned up the mess he'd made and slipped downstairs. "Morning," he said cheerfully to Mrs. Weasley, who was bustling about the kitchen. "Would you like some help?"

"Oh - good morning, dear," Mrs. Weasley said distractedly. "Chop the onions?"

Sam picked up a knife and did as he was told. "Thanks for the sweater," he said.

"No problem, dear, I make them every year," Mrs. Weasley said. "I had to guess at the sizing, so after breakfast nip up and make sure it fits."

"I will." Sam smiled at her and focused on his task.

A tapping drew their attention just a few minutes later. Mrs. Weasley dried her hands on a dish towel and hurried to open the window. "Oh, it's Percy's owl!" she said excitedly, undoing the latch.

The owl flew into the kitchen, dropped an unopened package neatly in the center of the table, and left again without setting down.

"Morning," Fred said, coming into the kitchen. "Oi - what's that?"

Mrs. Weasley picked up the package and ran it over with her hands. "Percy's sent back his jumper," she said, and burst into tears.

"Oh, don't cry, Mum," George said hurriedly.

"Percy's a wanker," Fred added.

"Humongous pile of rat droppings."

Mrs. Weasley cried harder. Sam glared at them and put a hand on her arm. "He'll come around," he said quietly. "He just needs a little time, and he'll see you're right."

"What's this?" Lupin asked, coming into the kitchen.

"Percy sent back his jumper," Fred explained.

"Oh, Molly," Lupin said mournfully, wrapping her into a hug.

"I'll make tea," Sam said hastily, hurrying toward the kettle. Fred and George disappeared with loud cracks.

Lupin and Mrs. Weasley talked quietly while Sam made tea. He didn't try very hard to make out the words; he barely knew the Weasleys, when all was said and done, and he and Mrs. Weasley hadn't been on good terms for a while.

He set a cup of tea down by Mrs. Weasley's elbow and poured one for Lupin, as well.

"Thank you," Lupin said quietly.

"I'm just being silly," Mrs. Weasley said, wiping her eyes.

"He'll come around, Mrs. Weasley," Sam said gently. "He just needs a little time to grow up."

"What?"

"Percy...he's proud," Sam said, choosing his words carefully. "When the Ministry gets itself in gear, he's going to have to eat his words. He'll be back. Just give him time."

"Is your family giving you time?" Mrs. Weasley demanded hysterically.

" _You_ haven't put out a kill order on Percy," Sam said coolly. "You didn't drive him away, he chose to leave. Apples and oranges, Mrs. Weasley." He returned to the stove and poured a bowl's contents into a pan to start the scrambled eggs.  
***  
The return to Hogwarts approached, bringing with it mixed feelings. While Sam missed his friends, going to school would mean subjecting himself to Umbridge once more. It would also mean a reprieve from Mrs. Weasley's heavy cooking.

On the third of January, Tonks accompanied him to a café two blocks away from Grimmauld Place to meet Lianne and Christina, who bought them both tea and wandered into a nearby park to talk in relative privacy. Sam took the opportunity to cast the Never-Out Charm on their firearms.

After a description of taking down a poltergeist that played 'Chopsticks' on the bagpipes until brains literally came out of the listeners' ears, Tonks called a halt. "Write," Christina said firmly, drawing him into a firm hug.

"Come back in the summer," Lianne added, also hugging him.

"I'll do my best," he said, kissing her cheek. "You two, be careful out there."

"You be careful at school," Lianne said, brushing her fingers along the scar on his neck. 

They returned to Kings Cross on the Knight Bus, a purple triple-decker that was enchanted to be invisible to Muggles and squeeze through gaps it never should have been able to manage. The seats weren't normal bus seats; they were mismatched armchairs clustered around windows. Sam found a seat with Hermione, Ginny, and Tonks on the very top deck. The bus jumped around with loud bangs, all over the country, and Sam wondered if walking wouldn't have been faster.

They rolled through Hogsmeade; Tonks chivvied them off, and Sam understood. They weren't taking the train. That would have been _astoundingly_ lovely to know before he got on the bus.

"You'll be safe once you're in the grounds," Tonks said. "Have a good term, okay?"

"Look after yourselves," Lupin added. "And each other."


	5. Self-Destruction Is A Small Price To Pay

Snape held him back after the first Potions lesson of the semester. "It has been six months since you began taking the potion," he said quietly.

Sam blinked. "Yes, sir."

"That is as long as it can safely be taken."

Sam's heart lurched into his throat, burning like acid. He'd known, yes, but somehow he'd convinced himself there would be an exception...that, somehow, he'd be able to keep taking it….

Snape was still talking. "...Pomfrey or myself, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said automatically.

"Dismissed."

Sam left the room in a daze. He was done with the potion - what if things got bad again? It took two months to clear completely out of his system - what was he going to _do?_

"You look like your dog died," Theo said when he sat down at lunch.

"Sorry," Sam said numbly.

"What's wrong?" Pansy asked.

"Potion's done," Sam said dully. "Can't take it anymore."

Blaise sucked in a breath. Millie laid a hand on his arm. "We're here if you need us," she said gently.

Sam managed a smile. "Thanks."

The next morning, they were greeted with news that darkened the mood of the entire school: there had been a breakout at Azkaban. Eleven black-and-white photographs, ten of wizards and one of a witch, filled the front page, each captioned with a short indictment record.

_Antonin Dolohov, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett._

_Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom._

_Peter Pettigrew, convicted of leaking information leading to the death of James and Lily Potter and of killing twelve people in Muggle London when cornered._

_Augustus Rookwood, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

Draco opened the paper and read aloud, "Mass breakout from Azkaban - Ministry fears threat of new Dark Lord.

"The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge - er - confirmed that ten eleven high-security escaped...Muggle rubbish….

"It is unclear if any of the eleven are Animagi. Sirius Black escaped in his Animagus form two and a half years ago - so _that's_ how he did it," Draco said absently. "We are doing all we can...alert and cautious...the usual rubbish."

Sam toyed with his spoon, frowning worriedly. "A breakout, though," he said quietly.

"It's not all that bad," Millie said, though she looked doubtful.

The professors, too, looked worried - all but Umbridge, who merely looked angry.

Word of a different sort spread through the school quickly: Hagrid had been put on probation. Sam felt guilty for being relieved they may soon get a Creatures professor less likely to teach a class that ended in somebody being maimed, since he did genuinely like Hagrid. The major problem, he felt, was that Hagrid's sense of danger was so skewed somebody would likely be killed - and that would present a true ethical dilemma, one he hoped to never face.

Still, that took a backseat in importance to the Death Eaters. Family members of the victims were suddenly unwilling celebrities, and more people than ever seemed willing to consider the version of events where Voldemort had returned to wreak havoc once more. The professors talked quietly between classes, clearly either unable or unwilling to talk with Umbridge nearby.

The morning after the news hit, a new Educational Decree came out:

**\-----BY ORDER OF-----  
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.

_The above is in accordance with  
Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six._

Signed:  
Dolores Jane Umbridge  
HIGH INQUISITOR

"So, what, they can't tell us off for playing Gobstones in Flitwick's class anymore?" a seventh-year sneered.

Both Divination and Care of Magical Creatures were held under Umbridge's observation. Trelawney had moved on to ornithomancy and heptomology, and they spent a memorable class staring out over the forest watching the birds' movements as they related to the number seven. Sam had three more visions in that single hour; the third time, Umbridge said, "Perhaps you should leave the room if you are unable to work."

"Perhaps you should mind your own goddamn business," Sam snapped, head pounding and nose bleeding profusely. Umbridge gave him three weeks' detention for his lapse in filtering himself, but really, who could blame him for losing control? She was lucky he hadn't punched her.

In the meantime, Hagrid was being inspected thoroughly. He was easily distracted during class, hadn't shown them anything even _close_ to dangerous since the thestrals back in November, and forgot what he was saying every other word. More disturbingly, he continued to show up with weird injuries.

Sam's hand was scarred more or less permanently after three weeks of writing _I must not talk back to authority_ for hours at a time. He would enter her office at five o'clock, and counted himself lucky to leave before one. He usually came back to notes and his friends' essays left innocently on their table, as though they'd merely forgotten them. Sam felt no compunction about reading through them and writing his own essays based on theirs, though they couldn't help with Arithmancy. Hermione, who had seen his hand, met him in the library before breakfast the morning after they were assigned the homework to make sure he got everything he needed.

No matter how far behind he got, he _always_ made sure to show up to at least two meals a day, though whether he ate was debatable. He also pushed himself to run further and further in the mornings, working off the stress of the impending examinations and his quick temper the best way he knew how.

Valentine's Day arrived, bringing with it a Hogsmeade weekend and warmer weather. Sam wasn't in the mood to watch his friends paired off with each other, so he sent them off with a false smile and returned to the common room. Maybe he could get a little bit ahead on his homework - that would be new.

He skipped the next Quidditch match, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff. Draco tried to bully him into going, talking about learning strategy, and Sam laughed in his face. "I sit in front of three goalposts and catch a red ball. Nobody even aims Bludgers at me. What strategy could I possibly need?"

The Monday after that Quidditch game, owls flocked to Harry the moment he entered the Great Hall, grabbing everyone's attention.

"What has that idiot done now?" Sam grumbled.

By the end of their first class, he knew, thanks to a new Educational Decree:

**\-----BY ORDER OF-----  
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts**

Any student found in possession of the magazine _The Quibbler_ will be expelled.

_The above is in accordance with  
Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven._

Signed:  
Dolores Jane Umbridge  
HIGH INQUISITOR

"He gave an interview to that Skeeter _shrew?_ " Sam snarled when he got his hands on a copy that night in the common room. "That - _absolute_ \- he - that goddamn -"

"You've been hearing it since before lunch," Draco said in disbelief.

"I didn't know _she_ was the one who wrote it," Sam said vehemently.

Harry had named half the Slytherins' fathers as Death Eaters, which they took in stride - it was an open secret, after all. They were still angry about it in public, because to them, it was ancient history, but in the common room it was another story. There was almost _relief_ in the air, which just keyed Sam up even more.

The week did not improve. When Umbridge chirped, "Wands away. There will be no need to talk," at the beginning of Thursday's class, Sam grumbled, "Is there ever?" louder than necessary and earned himself a dismissal from the Quidditch team and another two weeks of detention, which he served with a vicious sort of satisfaction. Whatever Umbridge did to him, he could always do worse to himself, and he had the scars to prove it; she was nothing to him, just a bug, and a bug could sting but a person could kill, and he had the scars to prove that, too.

After dinner on Friday, just as they reached the common room, they heard screaming in the Entrance Hall. Sam pulled his wand and bolted upwards without thought. He skidded to a halt and looked for the threat.

There was none. Trelawney was standing in the middle of the Hall, two trunks at her feet, lopsided and drunk. Umbridge was at the foot of the steps. McGonagall, on the other side of the hall, looked ill.

"Go on, now," Umbridge said quietly.

"No!" Trelawney shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening….It cannot….I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming?" Umbridge said mockingly. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"

"You c-can't!" Trelawney sobbed. "You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It _was_ your home," Umbridge said, grinning broadly. Sam honestly considered stabbing her right there in the Entrance Hall in front of everyone…half the school had scars to prove her cruelty, no way in hell would he be blamed for his actions…or maybe the chandelier should fall on her instead, yes, that was good….

"-until an hour ago," Umbridge continued, "when the Minister of Magic countersigned an order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

Trelawney was rocking back and forth now, she was crying so hard. Some of the students were crying, too, horror reflected clearly in their faces.

McGonagall hurried forward, patted Trelawney's back, and handed her a handkerchief. "There, there, Sibyll, calm down. Blow your nose on this...it's not as bad as you think, now, you're not going to have to leave Hogwarts."

"Oh, really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge asked gleefully, moving forward like a shark going for the kill. "And your authority for that statement is?"

The doors to the outside swung open, and Dumbledore announced, "That would be mine."

"Loves an entrance, doesn't he?" Sam muttered resentfully.

Dumbledore walked forward authoritatively even as Umbridge said, "Yours, Professor Dumbledore? I'm afraid you do not understand the situation. I have here" - she pulled out a scroll from her robes as he reached the women in the middle of the hall - "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Umber Twenty-Three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she - that is to say, _I_ \- feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

"You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge," Dumbledore said politely. Sam glanced up - Umbridge was _so close_ to being in the perfect position for the chandelier to crush her. "As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."

Trelawney laughed, short and hysterical. "No - no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore. I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere-"

"No," Dumbledore interrupted, voice like iron with the belief everyone would do as he said against their own judgment. "It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll. Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sibyll."

Sprout hurried forward to join them all, and she grabbed the arm McGonagall wasn't holding. Flitwick charmed the trunks, and together they proceeded upstairs. Students parted hastily for them and then resealed the gaps.

"And what," Umbridge said in a stage whisper, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, who would prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"He knew this was coming," Blaise breathed. "Why didn't he warn-?"

"Because he likes to make a scene," Draco said contemptuously.

"-under Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two-" Umbridge was saying haughtily, only to be cut off by Dumbledore.

"-the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if - and only if - the headmaster is unable to find one. And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

He turned to face the doors, and they all heard hooves. The students closest to the doors scrambled to get out of the way of whatever was coming up the steps.

It was definitely a _what_ , not a _who_ , that entered the hall next. A centaur with a pale, white-haired and blue-eyed human half and palomino horse half walked in.

"This is Firenze," Dumbledore said happily to Umbridge, who looked like she'd just been electrocuted. "I think you'll find him suitable."  
***  
His first Divination lesson with Firenze came the very next day of class. He entered classroom eleven, on the ground floor, to find it had been transformed into a replica of the forest.

"Hello," Firenze said calmly when they were all inside. "Let us begin."

He raised and lowered a hand, dimming the lights until stars emerged on the ceiling. "Professor Dumbledore kindly arranged this room for us," he said. "Lie back upon the floor and observe the heavens. Here it is written, for those who can see, the fortunes of our races.

"While humans prefer to spend their time on the self-flattering nonsense of fortune-telling, centaurs' wisdom is deeper. It is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing. In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, we may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame, as follows."

Firenze detailed the use of sage and mallowsweet, which Sam's nose identified as the incense Trelawney used that made his head ache so. He told them to watch for spears, swords, or other 'indicators of battle', but by the end of the period, none of them had seen anything. He was unconcerned by this: "Humans are rarely capable of such distinction. Even centaurs may take years to become competent. Even so, putting faith in them is foolishness; there is always the chance of reading the omens wrong. This is inexact, and nothing is foolproof."

"Not sure of much, is he?" Draco said when they left. "God, another half-breed teaching us, wait 'til my father hears about this."

Sam just rubbed his eyes.

April showers brought May flowers, as the saying went, and there were plenty of showers as the month began. They counted themselves lucky to see the sun once a week. Sam found himself running in mud that sucked him down ankle-deep and was forced to give up less than a week in. He worked off his stress in the common room instead, reciting steps to make Calming Draughts and dates of various events as he went through drills.

Sam wasn’t the only one worrying about exams: half his year ended up in the hospital wing, getting Calming Draughts from Pomfrey. The only bright side was that he no longer had Quidditch every other day. Draco returned to the common room after every practice grumpy and scowling.

Partway through April, some Slytherins, Draco and Pansy among them, returned to the common room quite late at night, laughing breathlessly about catching Harry Potter in his latest bout of rulebreaking. The next morning, a sixth-year Ravenclaw was in the hospital wing, Dumbledore was gone, and Umbridge had installed herself as Headmistress with the use of a new Educational Decree. Nobody was laughing then, but the rumor mill, as bright as ever, claimed Fudge was in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head.

The same Slytherins from the night before had also been issued badges: tiny silver 'I's, which apparently stood for 'Inquisitorial Squad' and gave them the power to penalize House points. The same day, Montague disappeared and havoc exploded in the form of the Weasley twins.

A large crate of fireworks went off on the third floor, spelling out swear words. Stunning them made them explode, Vanishing made them multiply. Sam had plenty of opportunity to see them in action; they spread all over the school, neon Catherine wheels mixing with firecrackers exploding in bright colors and sparklers writing swear words, and fiery animals plaguing classes.

The teachers didn't seem to mind too much, sending someone for Umbridge every time a new one showed up. 

"Oh, dear," Flitwick sighed happily when a sparkler burned the word WANKER into a wall. "Someone run and get the new Headmistress, will they?" Once she'd dealt with the sparklers, Flitwick said smoothly, "Thank you so much, Professor. I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether I had the _authority!"_

Sam burst into laughter, and Umbridge pointed a finger at him. "A week," she said firmly.

Even a week's detention couldn’t get him down, buoyed as he was by the knowledge that Fred and George had reached their breaking point. He couldn't wait for the finale, and the thought sustained him through another seven hours of cutting _I must not talk back to authority_ into the back of his hand.

On his last detention, the final class before Easter break, Umbridge said, "A moment, Mr. Winchester," at one in the morning.

"Yes?" he asked tightly.

"I am headmistress now," she said softly. "That means any respect you may have paid Dumbledore you will pay me, understand?"

"Yes," he said, anger sparking. "Except-"

"You would do well," she said, talking over him, "to remember that the Head of this school has the power to expel students at will. This is your only warning, Mr. Winchester. I believe the American phrase is 'shape up or ship out', is it not?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed furiously, red-hot anger clouding his vision, and then he said, "Yes, _ma'am,_ " rather resentfully.

"I would also remind you," she continued, standing and leaning on the desk, "that the only place for you to go is back to America...remind me, do you still have a kill order out on you?"

Red for another reason now, he mumbled, "Yes."

"What was that, dear?"

"Yes," he said more loudly.

"Then we understand each other. You are dismissed."

Sam hurried out before she could do anything else. Breathing hard, he made it all of two floors down before he punched the wall as hard as he could.

Something cracked. "FUCK!" he screamed, and punched again and again and again. It was already broken; it wouldn't stay that way for long. It was the hand with the scars, anyway, so who cared?

"Sam!" somebody cried, grabbing at him, and he spun, hands still raised to punch. It took a second to recognize the figure.

"Sam," McGonagall said, "what on _earth_ are you doing?"

He belatedly realized he was breathing heavily and crying. "Sorry," he muttered, wiping his eyes hastily. The twinge of pain that came from lifting his arm made him look down: both his hands were bleeding.

"These are broken," McGonagall said. "What _happened?_ "

"Umbridge," Sam spat. He forced himself to relax - he wasn't angry at McGonagall, who had been nothing but kind to him. She'd been the one to spell him against the hunter-proofing, after all. "Professor, can - can she expel me whenever she wants?"

"There will be a meeting with the Board of Governors," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and tugging him along the hall. "It's usually a formality. If a Head feels the need to expel a student, there is usually a reason. The last expulsion was fifty years ago, after there had been a death. Is that what she told you?"

Sam nodded. "After detention tonight," he said dully.

"Rest assured, Winchester, if she tries to expel you there is not one teacher who will speak in her favor." McGonagall led him through a door, sat him on the edge of a bed, and knocked on a different door - she'd brought him to the hospital wing. 

A moment later, Pomfrey appeared, looking grumpy. "Again, Winchester?" she asked.

He cracked a smile. "Been a while," he said.

"Yes. What did you do this time?"

"Um - I - punched a wall," he muttered.

"Repeatedly," McGonagall said, voice hard.

Pomfrey tapped his hands with her wand. The bones shifted and realigned, bringing sharp, stabbing pain with it, and then the pain faded. "I can't do anything about the scar," she warned him.

Sam smiled wanly. "I didn't think you could."

"Go on, then," she said. "Get to bed."

McGonagall walked him down to the common room. "I'll have to tell Severus," she informed him on the walk down.

"I know," Sam said gloomily. He was not looking forward to that conversation at _all._


	6. Battle

He was right not to. Snape was in a worse mood than usual, and Sam left his office feeling even worse than he usually did. All he wanted was to go back to the common room, curl up in front of the fire, and sleep until something _changed._

Unfortunately, it was lunchtime, and Sam dragged himself to the Great Hall, plastered on a smile for his friends (all of whom were now wearing the silver 'I'), and left early for the library, where he could at least find an isolated corner to read a book.

When he got back to the common room after dinner - he really hadn't meant to miss it, he'd just gotten caught up in the book on dragon mating habits - it was to find pamphlets scattered over their usual table, and a sign hanging nearby:

**CAREER ADVICE**

All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the Summer term, in which they will be given the opportunity to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.

Sam scanned down the list until he saw WINCHESTER, SAM - FRIDAY, 2PM. He'd be missing part of Care of Magical Creatures, but he could do that.

"What do you think about banking?" Millie asked Theo.

"You could train the trolls," Theo said, looking fondly at her. She laughed and kissed his nose.

"I'm going into politics," Draco drawled. "It's criminal, how much the pureblood influence has declined."

"I want to be a Healer," Blaise said quickly. "NEWTs in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense, though."

"Keep Theo away from the Charms," Draco said sleekly.

Theo threw a crumpled piece of parchment at him and looked at Sam. "What about you?"

Sam shrugged and looked at the paper. "I kinda just assumed...nobody gets out of the life, you know? They all die before they can."

"But you don't have to," Pansy said. "Come be a Healer with me and Blaise, it'll be fun."

"I'd rather do something...preventative, I guess," Sam said, groping for the words and not finding them. "Healers help people after they've been hurt, I want to keep people from being hurt in the first place."

"Auror, then," Millie said. "Or Law Enforcement, at least."

"Yeah, but if Umbridge is what the whole Ministry's like, I'm not sure I want anything to do with it," Sam pointed out.

"Umbridge isn't so bad," Pansy said. "Doesn't favor the Gryffindors."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, then gave up. She didn’t favor the Gryffindors, true, but she also hated Sam with a passion, and she was flat-out sadistic.

In Potions on Tuesday, Draco knocked Harry's Invigoration Draught off the desk with a laugh. "Whoops," Snape said. "Another zero, then, Potter."

Sam left his own phial on Snape's desk for marking and left. Around him, his friends gleefully made plans related to the Inquisitorial Squad and agreed on a set number of points to dock from other houses for whatever reasons they could find.

Had they always been so cruel to everyone else, and he just hadn't noticed? Was their behavior the year before actually _in character_ for them, and he'd been so grateful they hadn't treated him the same he'd been blind? They'd been more distant this year, which he'd put down to the revelation of his secret, but was it just who they _were?_

"You're quiet," Theo said near the end of lunch.

Sam shrugged. "Don't have much to say."

At the end of the day, after a double Defense period Sam managed to get through without earning himself another detention, there was a sudden explosion of noise from somewhere outside. Umbridge leapt to her feet and waddled out the door as fast as she could; they all ran past her, eager to get to the source first.

There was a swamp in the hallway. Everyone was cheering and laughing right up until Umbridge caught up: "Who is responsible for this?" she shrieked, and then her eyes fell on Fred and George Weasley. "You two! I have had _enough!"_

"Think that's our cue, Fred," George said, and they sprinted off.

"Inquisitorial Squad!" she shrieked, and the other Slytherins bounded off. Goyle tried to go straight through and sank to his thighs in the muck. Sam lifted him out with a Levitation Spell, only to have Umbridge grab his arm. "No magic in the corridors," she hissed, eyes alight with malice.

He let Goyle down on the stone and looked down into her greedy, beady eyes. "I'll deal with _you_ later," she promised, and then she was off, too, trying to catch up to the Weasley twins on her short legs.

Sam shook his head in amazement and followed. He wanted to see what was about to happen. Other students seemed to have the same idea, because they came, too, and they streamed en masse into the Entrance Hall, where the Weasleys were standing in the middle of a ring, apparently unconcerned.

"So," Umbridge said, "you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swam, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," Fred answered easily.

Filch waved a piece of parchment as he hobbled forward. "I've got the form, Headmistress, I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting. Oh, let me do it now."

 _Seriously?_ Filch had been talking about whippings forever, but Sam had ascribed it the same importance he'd once given Caleb's drunken ramblings - all bark, no bite. How bad a judge of character _was_ he?

"Very good, Argus," Umbridge was saying gleefully. Her eyes didn't leave Fred and George. "You two are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

"You know what? I don't think we are." Fred turned to his twin. "George, I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself."

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?"

"Definitely."

They raised their wands together and chorused, _"Accio brooms!"_

Their broomsticks, from one of which dangled an iron peg and chain, came soaring down to meet them, forcing those unfortunate enough to still be on the staircase to duck.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred said, mounting.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch."

"If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley - Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Our new premises!"

"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat!" George yelled wildly.

"Stop them!" Umbridge bellowed. The Inquisitorial Squad closed in, but Fred and George were in the air.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves," Fred ordered the floating poltergeist.

Peeves saluted as everyone cheered and clapped, Sam included. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement, and harder to not be sincerely happy that people were getting out. Could _he_ get out? Where would he go, if he did?

The answer to that was simple: nowhere. Lianne and Christina were in parts unknown, and besides, he couldn't saddle them with his useless ass. 

In the following days, the Weasleys' escape was all anyone talked of. Even Sam's friends were grudgingly admiring, both of their escape and of the swamp on the fifth floor, which Umbridge couldn't remove. The other teachers likely could, but they showed no inclination to even try.

Meanwhile, with the Weasleys gone the other students were vying for their position as Pranksters In Residence. So many Dungbombs and Stinkpellets were dropped in the corridors Sam performed a Bubble-Head Charm on himself every time he ventured out into the castle, and he taught the younger years how to do it themselves. Pansy sprouted antlers, Warrington was hexed with psoriasis, and the other Inquisitorial Squad members were being similarly harassed. Filch prowled the corridors with a bullwhip in hand.

Fred and George had left behind more than just the swamp. 'Skiving Snackboxes', as they were called, were excessively popular on Monday and rarely used outside Umbridge's class. Students left her room with nosebleeds, fevers, faints, vomiting, the sweats and the runs. They claimed it was 'Umbridge-itis', and when putting an entire day's worth of classes in detention failed to reveal the source, Umbridge had to give up and allow them to go to the hospital wing. Sam, who on Tuesday had a vision of Kingsley Shacklebolt's death that was so gruesome he had a seizure, was forced to remain in the classroom until the bell rang and Theo and Millie literally dragged him to Pomfrey. She put him on bed rest for the rest of the day and well into Wednesday morning.

Peeves was wreaking havoc elsewhere in the castle - overturning vases, upending inkpots, shutting animals inside suits of armor, smashing lanterns, juggling lit candles overhead crowds, flooding the third floor, blowing raspberries at Umbridge whenever she tried to speak - but Sam never witnessed any of it. The poltergeist was still staying clear of the hunter.

His own major problem, Sam had to admit whenever he had time to think, was that now that his eyes were open he couldn't close them again. He couldn't avoid seeing how a frighteningly large number of younger students hurried away from his friends in tears or suffering from hexes when he approached them. He couldn't stop noticing the way other Houses' points were diminishing at an ever-faster rate. He was _seeing_ these things now, where before he hadn't even realized there was something to be seen, and he was ashamed.

Friday afternoon was his meeting with Snape; he skipped Creatures entirely, justifying it to himself with the lie that Hagrid wouldn't want him to interrupt by leaving. The truth was that he had a Charms essay he needed to finish before class that afternoon. At five to two, he rolled up the parchment and hurried to Snape's office.

"Enter," his Potions professor said when he knocked. Sam did as he was told, closing the door behind him, and felt his heart sink. Umbridge was sitting near the door.

"Have a seat," Snape ordered curtly. When Sam was settled, he said, "This meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into your sixth and seventh years. Have you given this any thought at all?"

"Yes," Sam said automatically. "I - uh - I was considering going back to America and working in law enforcement there."

"Why not over here?"

Sam raised his eyebrows significantly. "Because I miss my homeland," he said, choosing his words carefully, "and Britons are an… _insular_ bunch."

Snape tapped the desk. Message received. "You think Americans will be better?"

"At least I know how their legal process works over there," he said. "Worse comes to worst I'll work in the Muggle world."

Umbridge scoffed behind them; they both ignored her.

"Have you given any thought to teaching?" Snape asked.

Sam blinked. "No? Why-?"

"Filius tells me you are helpful when Nott fails," Snape said, lip curling. "It was merely a suggestion."

Sam considered it for a moment. "I'm not sure anyone will want me teaching their children," he said at last.

"You might be surprised," Snape said mildly. "In any event, if you are interested in law enforcement, you will need NEWTs in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms. No less than 'Exceeds Expectations' in each of them. Filius and Minerva do not take anyone who scores below an E on their OWLs. Sprout will take any who pass. I require an O. Your Defense requirement will, of course, depend on the teacher next year." Snape's eyes flicked to Umbridge, who had just let out a breathy cough. "Unless our current professor does what none of her predecessors of the past twenty years have managed, that is, and stays longer than one year."

"I intend to, as you well know," Umbridge said coldly. "And it will not do to get this boy's hopes up. No Ministry will take a hunter's brat."

"This concludes our career consultation," Snape said as though he hadn't heard her. "Return to class."

Sam hurried out before Umbridge exploded on Snape. Part of him wanted to see it; the rest of him knew he wouldn't get out in one piece if he stayed to observe.

The next day, Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup, which Sam learned when the rest of his house returned to the common room in foul moods. The entire Quidditch team, including Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, ignored Sam the entire weekend.

A note Sam received after dinner on Sunday night rounded out the fantastically bad weekend. He read it through three times in disbelief.

"What's that?" Pansy asked.

Sam looked up in disbelief. "They…" he said faintly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Umbridge has me on suspension," he said, sounding very strange to his own ears. "A meeting on Wednesday night to determine if I'm expelled."

"Expelled for _what?_ " Theo demanded. "Let me see that."

He snatched the note out of Sam's hands. Sam let him, too numb to protest. He knew what it said.

_Samuel Francis Winchester  
Slytherin fifth-year_

_Your presence is requested at a disciplinary meeting of the Board of Governors at seven o'clock on Wednesday the sixteenth of May. The purpose of this meeting is to determine your continued status at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If the Board determines against you, you will be expelled and returned to America to live with your own kind._

_Until such time as the meeting takes place, you are to consider yourself on suspension._

_This is in accordance with Hogwarts Bylaw 873C, Section 12, Paragraph 4._

The note ended with the signatures of all twelve governors.

"I need to talk to Snape," he said, standing and leaving the room. Halfway to the office, he realized he didn't have the notice, but that was all right. He knew what it said.

Snape didn't answer when Sam knocked on his office door, and he wasn't in the Potions classroom, either. Sam stared at the wall, numb, until a new thought trickled in: _McGonagall_. He turned and walked robotically, uncaring that it was past curfew.

"What is it?" McGonagall asked irritably when she opened the door to his knock.

"Umbridge is trying to expel me," he said faintly.

Her entire demeanor shifted abruptly. "Come in and sit down."

Sam did as he was told; when she settled behind her desk, she leaned forward and said, voice low and anxious, "What happened?"

"Got a note. A disciplinary meeting, Wednesday night."

"How many governors signed the note?"

"Twelve." McGonagall hissed a curse between her teeth. "Is that important?"

"Historically, the only governors who sign the notice are the ones who support the measure," McGonagall told him.

"So it's bad, then."

"It...could be," McGonagall hedged.

"What if they do expel me?" Sam asked quietly. "They said...they said I'd have to live with my own 'kind'...they wouldn't make me go back to John and Dean, would they?"

"No," McGonagall said sharply. "They may be able to force you out of Great Britain, but the Americans will not put you back with them. It's more likely they would place you at a boarding school year-round, or with one of the coexisting hunters over there."

"How likely is this?" Sam asked quietly, almost begging.

McGonagall was silent for a few moments, obviously debating, and eventually settled on, "With twelve signatures, it does not look good. But I will mobilize the teachers...Filius, in particular, quite likes you. I do not see how they can expel a student when every teacher in the school wishes him to stay."

Sam grabbed onto that and tucked it inside, next to the place where he kept that long-ago conversation with Caleb as they burned a rougarou. It was the only thing that got him through the next two days, during which time a flourishing underground trade of brain enhancers appeared, Ernie MacMillan started demanding people tell him how much time a day they were devoting to studying, and Draco spoke loudly about how it was more important to know the examiners than the material in public while studying himself sick in the common room.

The continued numbness probably didn't hurt, either, and nor did the distraction of trying to come up with defenses for possible infractions they could use against him.

Umbridge came over to him after dinner. "Staff lounge, Winchester," she said, smile wide and gloating.

"Good luck," Millie said, kissing his cheek.

"Thanks," Sam said, and followed Umbridge to the second floor.

The room had changed since the last time Sam had been in here. Then, it had been a comfortable collection of mismatched, overstuffed armchairs clustered around tables and the fireplace; now there were a dozen straight-backed wooden chairs in a semicircle, all angled toward a single chair in the center, all filled with men and women over the age of fifty. There were tables in front of them with name placards.

"You are Samuel Francis Winchester?" the man just left of center asked.

"I am," Sam said, looking him dead in the eye.

"I am Benedict Fitznurkle, the head of this committee. Have a seat, Mr. Winchester."

Sam sat slowly in the single chair in front of them.

"You are aware of the purpose of this meeting?" Fitznurkle asked.

"I am," Sam said.

"Then let us begin. Mr. Winchester, we have here a record of disciplinary action taken-"

The door opened and closed behind him, and Fitznurkle looked up. "This is a _closed_ meeting, Professors-"

"As his Head of House and the Deputy Headmistress," Snape's voice said coldly, "we do have a right to be here."

Fitznurkle purpled, but did not contest. Sam's heart lifted - McGonagall and Snape were here.

The woman next to Fitznurkle, a stick-thin brunette whose namecard proclaimed her 'F. Bricklemere', cleared her throat. "If we may continue, Benedict?"

"Of course...of course, Francine…ah, yes. Samuel Winchester. First year, no record. Second year, no record. Third year, seven separate instances of detention and a note of reckless behavior leading to injury. Fourth year, no record. This year, a combined total of nearly two months' detention and a visit to the infirmary for broken bones in both hands. Other reports indicate severe mental illness and repeated disruption due to - ah - seizures and visions. You are also, of course, a hunter." Fitznurkle put down the papers. "Have I missed anything?"

"I believe you've forgotten the award for Special Services to the School," Sam said calmly, "as well as the - um - _context_ for many of those."

"So put them in context," Bricklemere said, sounding bored.

"My third year, there were dementors on the grounds," Sam said. "They had an exaggerated effect on me, due to the circumstances surrounding my childhood. I was not entirely in control due to outside influence.

"This year, Professor Umbridge has taken a...keen interest in correcting behavior," Sam continued, choosing his words carefully. "I have been given detention for infractions such as _laughing_ -"

"Have you proof of that?" Bricklemere interrupted.

"A class full of Slytherins and Professor Flitwick," Sam said promptly.

"If I may?" Umbridge asked sweetly.

"As Headmistress, you have the right to speak, Dolores," Fitznurkle said, motioning her forward.

"Thank you, Benedict. I believe the infraction to which he is referring occurred the same day as the Weasley twins, who have since left the school, set off a series of fireworks. I suspected his involvement-"

"What?" Sam said furiously.

"-but had no proof," Umbridge continued as though she hadn't heard him. "When he laughed at my attempts to remove the fireworks from his classroom, I took it as confirmation."

Sam's mouth flapped. How could she even-?

"And the others?" Fitznurkle said, looking down at him.

Further comment on Umbridge would clearly be unwelcome. Sam took a deep breath and forced his mind back to the present. "Others?"

"Your broken hands, for example," Bricklemere said impatiently.

This was _not_ going to end well if he told the truth. "I fell," he said instead.

"You fell," Fitznurkle repeated.

"I fell. It was late and I was tired. I tripped and landed badly."

Fitznurkle shifted and looked at Bricklemere. Sam had never been more grateful he'd been taught to lie.

"Professor McGonagall," Bricklemere said, looking behind him. "You are the one who escorted Winchester to the hospital wing. Did he fall?"

There was the briefest of hesitations before she said, "I did not see him at the time of injury. I found him as he was already going to see Madam Pomfrey."

"That's not a yes," Bricklemere said.

"It's not a no, either," McGonagall said irritably.

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall, Fitznurkle said. He looked back at the papers in front of him. "You were on medication to control the worst of your psych symptoms, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your disciplinary record becomes abysmal following the end of the dosing period. I think it safe to say that without medication, you become reckless and destructive."

"But-"

Fitznurkle talked over him. "It is _also_ safe to say that you are not able to take those potions any longer. The revelation of what you are was a shock from which this school has not yet recovered. You are disruptive, poorly-behaved, and mentally ill. I, personally, see no scenario in which your continued enrollment at this school will benefit anyone. Comments?"

"Hunters have no place here," a man on the far left said firmly.

"This is a place for learning, not violence," added a woman three to the right of Bricklemere.

After a beat of silence, Bricklemere asked "Those opposed to expulsion?" and not a single one of them raised their hands.

"Those-"

"A moment," Snape began.

"Professor Snape," Bricklemere said with a glare, "your position grants you access to this room. It does not grant you speech. Be silent or be removed."

Sam just blinked.

"Those in favor?" Bricklemere asked, and twelve hands raised toward the ceiling.

"Samuel Francis Winchester will be expelled." Fitznurkle rattled off, "Under Subsection D of Hogwarts Bylaw 873C, Section 12, any fifth-year expelled in the Summer term must be allowed to sit his Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations before his dismissal from the school. Winchester must vacate the premises no more than twenty-four hours after the conclusion of his final exam. Meeting adjourned."

Someone grabbed his sleeve and hauled him out to a dark corner of the hallway. "That was rigged," McGonagall said in a low voice.

"Of course it was," Snape said impatiently, letting go of him. "The Ministry's got all of them in its pocket, they were never going to rule against that...woman. We're lucky they allowed Sam to speak at all."

"Yes, but to not even _look_ at the submitted documents...I suppose I expected more of a show."

" _Hem, hem,_ " Umbridge said from behind them. "I would suggest you all run along now. It wouldn't do for the Board of Governors to see your little meeting, now, would it?"

McGonagall's lips thinned in anger. Snape touched her arm and said, "Of course not, Dolores. We were merely discussing the interesting ways in which money and influence are traded for personal favor. We'll be off."

"Well?" Blaise yelled as soon as Sam entered the common room.

"I lost," Sam whispered.

"Sorry, couldn't hear that," Theo called, grinning across the room at him.

"I lost," he said more loudly.

Smiles vanished. "They _expelled_ you?" Draco asked, aghast.

"Yeah." Sam smiled miserably and shuffled over to join them in front of the fire. The other Slytherins watched him. "Called me a threat and a disruption...I have to leave after OWLs, something in the bylaws."

"That can't be right," Millie said. "They can't expel you!"

"Well, they have," Sam said dully. "Unless there's an appeal process, it's done."

"That's _bullshit!_ " Blaise yelled. "They can't _expel_ you, you haven't done anything wrong!"

"We'll fix this," Draco promised him.

"How?" Sam asked, something finally breaking through the blankness. "How can this _possibly_ be fixed? I'm expelled. It's done. It took them _ten minutes._ "

"There's got to be something in the bylaws," Theo said fiercely. "We'll find it."

"No," Sam said. "Focus on your OWLs."

"This is more important," Pansy told him grimly.

"My future is not more important than all seven of yours," Sam argued. "Just let it go."

"Then we'll look," a sixth-year said.

"There's got to be something in the library," a fourth-year added. "The laws, or something."

"Or Snape might have a copy," Warrington said. "It's worth a shot, at least."

"You're - you're all -" Sam stammered.

One of the seventh-year Prefects shrugged and said, "You're Slytherin. We buggered up last year, but you're _ours._ "

Word of his expulsion traveled through the school like wildfire, giving the other students even more reason to hate Umbridge. For most of them, Sam was sure, it was less about him than it was about Umbridge pushing through an expulsion in under a month of Headship.

Sam skipped her classes. He just didn't _care_ anymore. He spent the period in the library, searching through a copy of the bylaws to find any sort of appeals process or loophole, occasionally joined by others.

He found it the day before OWLs started: To be expelled, a student must first be accused of a serious crime, and they must be advised of their right to legal representation. He took it to Snape, who agreed that it would be enough to stay the expulsion order.

"Do not get your hopes up," Snape warned. "By Wizarding law, merely _being_ a hunter is a crime. Legal representation or no, the outcome will likely be the same."

"I have to try, though," Sam said, faintly pleading.

Snape nodded curtly. "I will contact the Board on your behalf. Now go - your Charms OWL is tomorrow, and I daresay Nott will be needing your help."

Nobody spoke much over breakfast, though Theo did manage to set the pepper mill on fire when he tried to charm it to tap-dance across the table. Sam put the flames out hastily.

After breakfast, the fifth- and seventh-years remained in the Entrance Hall while the other students trooped off to lessons. At nine-thirty they were called back in, by House and year, to take their seats. Sam was in the back right with the other fifth-year Slytherins, sitting in a desk facing the Head Table and McGonagall, who had a large hourglass, spare parchment and quills, and a few dozen ink bottles on the table next to her.

"Begin," she ordered, turning over the hourglass, and Sam flipped over the paper, wishing he'd be allowed to use his pens.

_1\. a) Give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly._

Sam remembered hovering trunks on the Hogwarts Express and answered it easily.

_2\. What is the General Counter-Spell?_

_3\. Describe the use and origin of the Skurge Charm._

_4\. Which charm would be used to cause an object to dance?_

On it went, and Sam answered all of them easily. He'd always liked Charms.

After lunch was their practical. They crammed themselves into the small room off the Great Hall to wait to be called, in alphabetical order. Sam and Blaise were some of the last to go into the room; at last, Flitwick called, "Thomas, Dean - Weasley, Ron - Winchester, Sam - Zabini, Blaise!" and directed them to their examiners. Sam ended up with Tofty, a bald old man with old-fashioned spectacles perched upon his nose.

"Winchester, eh?" he said, scanning the parchment in front of him. "The hunter Winchester?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said dully.

"No need to be nervous….Now, if you could take this eggcup and make it do cartwheels for me…."

The cup was burned, and Sam half-smiled, suddenly sure that Theo, too, had gotten Tofty for his examination.

After the cartwheels, he was asked to clean a dirty rag, turn a rat purple, levitate a wineglass, set a match on fire and then freeze it, Summon a candle from across the Great Hall, and perform various other tasks.

Then he was done, and he could scarcely believe it. So many hours spent studying, only to be done that quickly. It was a bit of a let-down. Even so, he dutifully pulled out his Transfiguration notes and studied them.

The days passed in much the same way. The exams just weren't that difficult. He even scored a bonus point during his Defense exam by performing a Patronus Charm.

The weekend was spent cramming for Potions - none of them wanted to let down their Head of House by performing substandardly. The written exam asked about between bezoars and goat hearts, which differed only in the concentration of a specific substance, and other such fiddly things; the practical was merely the production of a Calming Draught.

Tuesday's Care of Magical Creatures exam was similarly easy: distinguish knarls from hedgehogs with a bottle of milk; feed and clean a fire-crab; handle a bowtruckle without being hurt; select the proper diet for a sick unicorn. Sam was as confident in those as he was in the rest of his exams.

Astronomy was his worst subject, and he emerged from the theory unsure he'd done well but not particularly caring. He had no plans to continue on in Astronomy anyway.

He brought a similarly uncaring attitude to his Divination exam, which directly followed Arithmancy and where he was first asked to look into the crystal ball. He described seeing his classmates running through a hall made by shelves stocked with tiny glass spheres. Following that came palmistry and reading the tea leaves.

That night was the Astronomy practical. He and his friends climbed to the top of the tower at midnight to unpack their telescopes and fill in their blank star charts. To Sam, every star looked damn near the same.

He had barely finished marking the position of Sirius when a loud roar echoed across the grounds. He grabbed his wand instinctively and ducked out from behind his telescope, hoping to see what was happening.

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls," Tofty said, giving a dry cough. "Ahem - twenty minutes to go."

A loud _BANG_ reached their ears, and they all stopped to look. Five or six figures were in front of Hagrid's hut, casting Stunners at him. He was swinging madly.

"No!" Hermione cried.

"My dear, this is an examination!" Tofty said loudly.

Nobody paid him any mind; they were all focused on the drama unfolding with their teacher. Someone yelled, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!"

"Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!" Hagrid bellowed back.

"Are they mad?" Pansy whispered beside him.

A Stunner hit Fang. Hagrid grabbed the man who had shot it and tossed him. He hit a tree, sank to the ground, and did not get up. Sam sucked in a breath. He knew better than anyone what it felt like to take a life; Hagrid would regret that heavily when he was told.

"Look!" Parvati cried, pointing, and they looked down to see somebody running toward the cabin.

"Now, really," Tofty said. "Only sixteen minutes left, you know!"

"Oh, shut up," Draco grumbled, leaning forward to get a better look.

"How dare you!" the figure running across the lawn shouted.

"It's McGonagall," Sam said quietly.

"How _dare_ you! Leave him alone! _Alone_ , I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such-"

Several people screamed: at least four Stunners had left the group in front of Hagrid's cabin to hit McGonagall in the chest. She was outlined with red light for barely a moment before she was slammed back into the dirt.

She didn't get up.

"Galloping gargoyles!" Tofty yelled. "Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behavior!"

"COWARDS!" Hagrid bellowed. "RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT - AN' THAT-"

He swiped at his attackers, two of whom collapsed instantly. Sam's hands itched with the desire to help Hagrid, but what could he do?

"Get him, get him!" Umbridge screeched, but the last one standing was backing away so fast he tripped over one of his friends and fell over. Hagrid had grabbed Fang at some point, and he turned and ran through the gates.

For a full minute, nobody spoke or moved. Then Tofty broke the silence. "Um...five minutes to go, everybody."

When those minutes were up, they shoved their telescopes into their cases and hurried out, talking excitedly about what had happened. When they reached the common room, full of occupants who had been woken by the commotion, they told the tale over and over again until Sam finally fell asleep on the couch with Millie's head in his lap around four in the morning.

A late night was no excuse to not run, so in the morning, he carefully extricated himself from his friend and ran around the castle, trying not to remember that today was the last day of exams, and if the Board of Governors turned down the appeal Snape had sent this would be his last morning here.

Snape found him as he reentered the castle, looking very much like he'd been waiting. "Tonight," he said abruptly. "The second hearing is tonight, directly following your History of Magic OWL."

Sam swallowed. "Not good, is it?"

Snape hesitated, then stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "If worse comes to worst, we shall write to the Salem Academy. With recommendations and your likely OWL scores, you should be accepted without issue."

"Thanks," Sam said quietly.

He didn't tell his friends, who were cramming for their final History of Magic exam. Sam joined them, though he didn't retain much. He didn't think American schools would much care about European history.

He couldn't later recall a single question from the exam. At one point, Harry Potter woke screaming from a nightmare. At much the same time Sam's head split in two and he had a vision of Sirius being tossed through the arch by a jet of sickly green light. Tofty escorted them both out and sent them to the hospital wing. Harry set off, but Sam had no intention of going. He sat on the steps to the Entrance Hall, dazed and bleeding and filled with a kind of happy grief, because this time tomorrow he might be gone.

What if he lost? What would they do with him? Would they send him back to John and Dean? Would they turn him loose, knowing there was a kill order on his head? Or maybe John and Dean had told everyone he'd died, and he'd be thought to be a revenant...Sam's stomach flipped at the thought - a revenant's death was particularly brutal.

The doors opened, and the other students gushed forth, all laughing and chattering happily. Something dark twisted inside him; none of them saw death, none of them were facing being expelled and deported, none of them had seen the horrors the world contained, none of them had ever sunk a knife so deep that blood gushed over their hands.

He caught sight of his friends, as happy as could be that their exams were over, and turned away. It was no use bringing them all down with him.

Umbridge found him not ten minutes later. "This way, boy," she commanded, not bothering to hide her glee. Sam followed her glumly.

They were barely halfway to her office when Filch found them. "Peeves is smearing ink on the telescopes, Headmistress."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," she said pleasantly, not bothering to stop.

They'd just turned a corner when Ron Weasley hurried up to her. "Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department," he said.

"Is he, now?" Umbridge said, looking supremely uninterested. Sam's brow creased in confusion - he was in the Astronomy Tower, wasn't he? "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. You may have chosen late, but you did choose to follow the _proper_ brother to emulate in the end."

She hurried on, Sam keeping pace with her. She was so short he took one step for every two of hers. After they'd turned the next corner, she pressed the pin on her jacket and waited; not two minutes later, Millie, Draco, Warrington, and several of the other older Slytherins, all of whom were wearing the silver 'I's that marked them as the Inquisitorial Squad, joined them.

"Proceed to my office," she said quietly. "Detain anyone who tries to stop you."

Draco and Millie both looked at Sam in obvious confusion, but they followed her orders. They walked straight past the fights between Ginny and one of the older Slytherin girls and Warrington and Neville Longbottom. At the other end of the hall, Luna Lovegood was in a fight of her own. When they entered Umbridge's office, Millie and Draco went in first.

Someone tried to shoot a spell at them. They all dodged; Millie lunged at the general area of the spell and collided with something that grunted on impact. Umbridge strode straight to the fire, thrust her hand through, and pulled back. Harry's back arched as she pulled him out. It looked uncomfortably like she was going to conjure a knife and slice his throat open.

"You think," Umbridge growled, "that after two nifflers I was going to let one more foul, scavenging creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand," Umbridge ordered Draco, "and hers too." Her eyes flicked to Millie and back to Harry. "I want to know why you are in my office."

"I was - trying to get my Firebolt," Harry said through the shaking he was receiving.

"Liar," Umbridge said viciously. "Your Firebolt is under strict guard in the dungeons, as you very well know, Potter. With whom have you been communicating?"

"No one!"

" _Liar!_ " She threw him against the desk, and he turned quickly to keep facing her. The door banged open, and the rest of the Slytherins entered. Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville were forced in with them, all of them gagged, Neville in a stranglehold of Crabbe's.

"Got 'em all." Warrington shoved Ron forward and pointed at Neville. "That one tried to stop me taking her" - he pointed at Ginny - "so I brought him along, too."

"Good, good," Umbridge said absently. "Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?"

Malfoy laughed. 

Sam didn't know what to do. He could fight, but why? He'd be taken down in moments, and there was no reason to even attempt it. The Gryffindors had done something wrong, Sam told himself, but he knew in his bones he would never accept that rationalization.

"Winchester, leave," Umbridge said curtly.

Sam crossed his arms. "No."

"No?" Umbridge repeated. "And why not?"

"Because I don't know what's going on, but your authority over me is done," Sam informed her. "Feel free to try to remove me by force, though. It's been a while since I've gone on a hunt...how many people do you think will get hurt when I defend myself?"

Draco's eyes widened, and then he smirked and winked. He, at least, knew what Sam was doing. So did Millie, by the look in her eyes.

Umbridge didn't, but then, she didn't know _him._ She didn't know his reaction to subtle threats was to intimidate the other into backing down when he knew for a fact that he could take his opponent in a fight, fair or otherwise. She didn't know where the line was, a fact to which the scars on his hand could attest. Umbridge was a sniveling bureaucrat, and if she gave him a reason he would enjoy beating her to a pulp.

That much, she did know. "Fine," she said ungraciously, "stay. Now, Potter…." She plastered on a smile and sank into one of her lurid armchairs. "You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes, Mr. Filch having just informed me so. Clearly it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone."

Some of the older Slytherins laughed. Millie met Sam's eyes and looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"It's none of your business who I talk to," Harry snapped.

"Very well," Umbridge said. "Very well, Mr. Potter, I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco - fetch Professor Snape."

Draco slipped Harry's wand inside his robes and hurried out. In his absence there was silence but for the clocks' ticking.

"You wanted to see me, headmistress?" Snape asked when he arrived. His eyes swept over the proceedings, his face completely blank.

"Ah, Professor Snape," Umbridge said pleasantly as she stood. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."

Veritaserum - truth potion, Sam thought. Highly regulated.

"You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," Snape said coolly. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."

She blushed. "You can make some more, can't you?" she asked in the saccharine voice she used when she was blindly angry.

"Certainly. It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month."

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing at Umbridge swelling up with indignation. "A _month_?" she snarled. "But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using the fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"

"Really?" Snape said, interest flickering over his face. "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules. And Winchester?"

"I wish to interrogate him!" Umbridge said, ignoring his question. "I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"

"I have already told you," Snape said, with the air of a parent telling a toddler that she can't have candy for dinner, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter - and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did - I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling."

"You are on probation!" Umbridge shrieked, pointing a stubby finger at him, and Snape raised his brows. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office."

Snape bowed sarcastically and turned to leave, sending a questioning glance at Sam, who shrugged and motioned that he'd be staying.

"He's got Padfoot!" Harry shouted. "He's got Padfoot in the place where it's hidden!"

Harry was a goddamn _moron._ Sam should shoot him just on general principle.

"Padfoot?" Umbridge asked eagerly. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?"

Snape turned slowly. "I have no idea. Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Draught. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job."

He closed the door smartly behind him, and Umbridge growled. Her chest was heaving with anger. "Very well," she said, pulling out her wand, "very well. I am left with no alternative. This is more than a matter of school discipline….This is a matter of Ministry security….Yes, yes…. You are forcing me, Potter, I do not want to."

Umbridge was shifting from foot to foot, as though talking herself into something. Sam slowly reached for his wand, alert and ready to interfere.

"Sometimes," Umbridge panted, "circumstances justify the means...I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice….The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."

"No!" shrieked Hermione. "Professor Umbridge - it's illegal-"

Sam took a more practical approach and growled, _"Stupefy!_ " The spell hit her square in the back, and she collapsed.

"Sam?" Malfoy said slowly.

"What?" Sam snapped, reaching down and taking Umbridge's wand. "Saving her from herself, really. Now _you_ , fess up. What were you doing?"

"I - er -" Harry's eyes widened. "Behind you!"

Sam couldn't turn quite in time, and unconsciousness washed over him.  
***  
He woke to Snape's familiar voice. "What _happened?_ "

"Ugh," Sam mumbled. "I dunno."

Snape grabbed him and pulled him to sitting. "What time were you Stunned?"

"Um." Sam blinked, trying to think. "Maybe two minutes after you left? Umbridge tried to use the Cruciatus, so I Stunned her before she could. Then somebody got me in the back - wait. Where are the Gryffindors?"

"Doubtless in London," Snape spat. "I was on my way to Grimmauld Place. Come - it's no longer safe for you here, if you've Stunned the Headmistress." He offered Sam the Floo powder.

He _hated_ traveling this way, but it was the fastest way out. After this, there was no possible future for him that included Hogwarts. "Twelve Grimmauld Place," he called, throwing down the powder and spinning forward with his elbows tucked close.

He landed on his hands and knees in the kitchen and scrambled to his feet. Snape came through not five seconds later.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Hogwarts is no longer safe for him," Snape said crisply. "Albus - she tried the Cruciatus."

Silence fell. Sam took the opportunity to look around. Everyone was here, even people he hadn't met yet. Even Hagrid, whose head was brushing the ceiling, and Dumbledore, who was sitting at the head of the table.

"Mr. Winchester?" Dumbledore asked. "Why have you come?"

Snape answered for him: "He Stunned her. I thought it unwise to leave him under her control."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Winchester, if you would be so kind as to leave-"

"No," Snape said sharply. "He could help, Albus. He's Slytherin, and a good fighter, and a child. The others will hesitate - Lucius, in particular, will not want to hurt a friend of his son. You are well aware he can take care of himself."

Dumbledore tilted his head, examining him closely. Pain spiked in Sam's head when Dumbledore met his eyes.

"A natural Occlumens," he said softly. "Mr. Winchester, you are aware of the risks of a battle?"

"I am," Sam said, meeting his eyes squarely.

"Albus, no - he is a _child_ -" Mrs. Weasley protested.

"That's that, then," Dumbledore said as though he hadn't heard. "The team to the Ministry, you must leave now - I'm afraid they have quite the head start. I shall follow after I deal with Hogwarts."

"Go," Snape said softly. Sam followed Tonks, Sirius, Lupin, Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt out the door.

"Why so few?" Sam asked them quietly.

"Nobody else can duel well," Tonks said briskly. "I take it you can, or Dumbledore wouldn't have sent you."

"Are you really the hunter boy?" Shacklebolt asked as they left.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"I'll get him," Tonks said. "Don't fight it, Sam."

"What-" Sam started, but next second she had him in a strangling-tight hold and he couldn't speak. Then there was pressure, as though he was being forced through a very tight tube, and spots popped in his vision.

It ended as fast as it started, and Sam staggered away and gasped out, "What the hell was that?"

"Apparition," Lupin said, and sure enough they were somewhere new when Sam looked around - a cavernous room with marked squares on the floor.

"Where-"

"Ministry of Magic, Apparition room," Moody told him. "Now come quickly."

Sam followed them into an elevator, and when a cool female voice said, _"Department of Mysteries_ , he followed them out, down a long hallway, down more steps, and finally into a round room with fiery 'X's on some of the doors.

"Hermione's been here," Lupin murmured.

Tonks was looking up, at the ceiling that had moving dots. "They're in the Arch Room," she said. "Shacklebolt, Remus, Sirius, that door. Sam, Mad-Eye, and I will come through this one. Ready?"

Sam hurried over to stand next to her, wand raised and ready, left hand absently stroking along the curve of his .45, so familiar to him he usually forgot he even had it on him. It would be a good backup if he got disarmed, as would his knives.

"Go!" Tonks whispered, and they poured through. Sam took in the scene as he dove inside and cast a One-Way Shield Charm so he could cast without getting hit. Harry was on the dais of an arch, one he'd seen before in visions, and he marked Sirius's position in his mind - he'd have to warn him. A dozen Death Eaters surrounded the arch. Neville was on the floor by a witch's feet.

That was all he had time to see before somebody started casting at him, and he snapped his attention to the battle. The others were Stunning and Disarming; Sam had no patience for it. He sent Severing Charms and Blasting Curses at them.

One of his Blasting Curses was deflected and hit just where Neville's hand had been moments before. Sam leapt down the steps to distract the Death Eaters, still spelling - " _Reducto! Stupefy! Stupefy! Caesa! Praemunio!_ "

Two of them focused on Sam, spelling curses at the same time, and Sam was forced to resort solely to blocking. The two of them worked well together, and had a rhythm; Sam used that against them, waiting until a predicted lull and casting a Blasting Curse that threw the one on the right into a wall before he had to block again. Thrown off, his partner made a sloppy mistake and Sam did the same to him. He didn't have time to play nice - Stunners and Incarcerating Spells could be undone by anybody with a wand, but the damage done by Blasters and Cutting Curses would take more time than he was guessing they wanted to take.

Both dispatched, Sam looked for his next opponent. He caught sight of Tonks falling limply down the stairs, the witch she'd been dueling running toward them, and made a decision. He ran toward her. So did Sirius - they met halfway and started casting at her.

There was no chance to warn him. Bellatrix was good, better than the last two Sam had faced, and it was taking both of them to keep her occupied.

"Itty bitty baby fighting in the Ministwy!" she called mockingly.

Sam cast a Blasting Curse, which she blocked neatly. Something hit his back and he fell, dropping his wand. It clattered uselessly away.

 _Rookie mistake_ , he thought furiously. He'd gotten stupid and overconfident.

"Sam?" Sirius barked.

"Fine!" Sam dove for his wand, only to see it snap under somebody's foot.

He grabbed out his gun, rolled onto his back, and fired. The bullet caught the witch in the chest, and she staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief. Sirius pressed the advantage and Blasted her. Sam got to a crouch and scurried over to grab her wand.

Curses flowed more easily from this wand; charms, not so much. His blocks were weaker than usual, he discovered when a Death Eater's Cutting Curse ripped through it like tissue paper and caught his shoulder, spinning him around. He cast a Blasting Curse back, and not expecting such a quick recovery, the Death Eater hit the wall, slid to the ground, and did not get back up.

Sam looked. Sirius was battling a different Death Eater. Tonks was out of sight, hurt or dead. Lupin and Moody were both fighting a Death Eater with long blond hair who looked vaguely familiar.

Someone's spell knocked the witch's wand from his hand. Sam jerked to look; there was a Death Eater bearing down on him. He glanced around frantically; if only he could do wandless magic, then he could pick up one of the benches.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " the Death Eater roared. This was it, he was dead, _again._

Except the spell hit a bench that had flown in front of his head - the exact bench Sam had just been wanting to move. Sam reached for his gun, but the Death Eater cast another spell and he was forced to duck under a nearby bench. The Death Eater kept up a steady stream of spellcasting, not giving him a chance to duck out and aim, and Sam wished he had a way to turn invisible so he could sneak out.

Except he _did._

Sam realized it when he saw Sirius hit the blond man with a spell that forced him to his knees. Sirius had taught him to be an Animagus, and his form was _invisible._

He focused, calling up the feeling of the spell. It was difficult - he was tired, and sore, and bleeding, and there were loud noises going on all around him. But he remembered what it felt like: yellowish-red coming out, wrapping itself around him, changing him, turning him into a hellhound. He focused hard, and he only knew he'd managed it when his vision went red.

The spells subsided. "I know you're there," someone taunted. "Come out and play."

Sam slid out from the side of the bench. The Death Eater didn't realize it. Sam couldn't make out features well, but he knew where the man was, and he could see the blue-green heat coming off him. He leapt forward and hit him full in the chest, heavy paws on his chest knocking him down. It took him a second to figure out where, exactly, his jaws were, but when he did he bit deep and ripped the man's throat out. He was dead before he had time to scream.

It tasted _good._ Sam wasn't prepared for that; he hadn't been expecting to enjoy blood.

Something hit his side. Sam pounced at the source and sniffed, pawing clumsily at the face. Only skin met his hand, and he bounced off. When he hit the wall, he changed back to human and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Dubbledore!" somebody cried, and Sam turned to see Dumbledore enter the room just before something hit his side. There was a tearing pain, and then, for the second time that day, he fell into unconsciousness.  
***  
Upon regaining wakefulness, he was greeted to the too-familiar sight of the hospital wing's ceiling and a girl calling, "Say hello to him for us!"

He sat up. Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Hermione were all in the wing, though only Ron and Hermione were in hospital pajamas.

"Sam!" Ginny called happily. "You're awake!"

"What-"

"Corkscrew Curse," Neville informed him.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven."

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I've missed my appeal!"

"Sorry," Ginny said.

"I wasn't going to win anyway," he said, voice muffled. "Not after Umbridge."

"Nobody knows _what_ happened to her, actually," Hermione said, sounding supremely casual. "They all appear to have lost their memories, and she's in Mungo's after a run-in with the centaurs."

"Really?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Really," Ginny confirmed, eyes dancing wickedly as she slid off Hermione's bed. "Let me get Pomfrey."

He submitted to her poking, prodding ministrations for fifteen minutes before she declared him 'healed' and swept off, muttering darkly about teenagers. Sam drew the curtains and dressed quickly.

Snape was waiting for him when he came out. He handed a piece of parchment, folded over and sealed with wax. "Results of the appeal," he said.

Sam slit the seal with his fingernail and read quickly.

_Samuel Francis Winchester  
For the following offenses:  
Repeated insubordination  
Demonstrated failure to correct behavior  
Unlawful leave-taking of the school grounds  
Dangerous recklessness  
Hunting while enrolled_

_Samuel Francis Winchester is hereby declared unfit for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and dismissed._

All twelve governors' signatures were at the bottom.

"Well?" Ron asked.

"I lost," Sam said bitterly. "What now, Professor Snape?"

"Now you return to the common room and say goodbye," Snape told him. "Members of the Department of International Magical Cooperation will meet you at three o'clock this afternoon to escort you to the American Ministry."

Sam nodded dumbly. "What happened at the Ministry?" he asked.

"The Dark Lord showed himself in the Atrium," Snape said. "Cornelius Fudge saw him, and now believes. It was in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning. Dumbledore has resumed his place as Headmaster. He plans to appeal your expulsion, but it may take quite some time. In the meantime, this decision is binding."

"Sorry," Ginny said sympathetically.

"Lunch," Snape ordered.

Sam let his legs carry him down, newly-familiar numbness returning to him.

"Sam!" Theo cried when he entered the Great Hall. "You're all right!"

He slid into his usual seat next to him. "Yeah," he said hollowly.

"What's wrong?" Millie asked.

"I lost the appeal," he said quietly. "I go back to America in three hours."

Millie and Pansy clapped their hands over their mouths in shock. Theo, Draco, and Blaise dropped their jaws. Crabbe and Goyle just looked worried.

"We can still write," Sam said, trying to keep his voice light.

They spent the afternoon playing Gobstones and Exploding Snap. At two-thirty, Sam stood. "I should get to Dumbledore's office."

The others stood, too, and a moment later he was in the middle of a pile-on. He bit his lip, willing himself to not cry. Millie was sobbing openly.

"I don't want to go," he said, tears starting to fall.

"We don't want you to go, either," said Pansy, and he completely broken down.

At last, he sniffled. "You all take care," he said, and he disentangled himself and left, hoping like hell Dumbledore's appeal was honored where Snape's hadn't been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Year Five!
> 
> The original ending was much less action-y. I debated between the two for a while and ultimately decided that the battle had to take place for Voldemort's return, and the only way for the battle to be described would be for Sam to be there.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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